Gimme Shelter
by spoffyumi
Summary: Bucky loves his job at the animal shelter, but he's not so good with people. His boss Nick wants him fired, he's barely scraping by on his salary, and don't even ask about his family. Steve wants to adopt a dog for company. Will either of them find what they're looking for? Stucky, angst and puppies.


1

Dogs barking. Cats mewling. All in all, another quiet night at the Springfield Animal Shelter.

Bucky gathered the little bulldog in his arms and carried him from the grooming area near the main lobby down the aisle to the dog cages. Cheddar wriggled and licked Bucky's chin - he was always happy after a good brushing. The canine's brown and white spotted coat gleamed. Bucky didn't understand why no one had adopted Cheddar yet. At the same time, he hoped no one would until Bucky could find a place to live that allowed dogs.

As Bucky set the pup down in his cage, he heard the main door open. He let Cheddar drool on his hand as he looked up at the clock. It was quarter to eight, nearly closing time, and Bucky was the only staff person left. Usually no one came to the shelter after six, not on a weeknight. Bucky had signed up for the evening shifts for that reason. He liked spending time with the animals. He preferred less time with the humans.

Most of the building's walls were made up of windows on the upper half, so people walking in could immediately see all the animals up for adoption. Through the window that separated the dogs from the lobby, Bucky sized up the blond guy who had entered. First, the crew cut and clean shaven jaw. Second, the tight white t-shirt which showed off the guy's bulging muscles, and pressed khakis.

Bucky returned his attentions to the dog for a moment, trying to overcome the swell of inadequacy he felt. He did not need to look at his own wrinkled plaid flannel shirt or the worn jeans covered in grass stains, dog hair, and dirt. That guy out there was the sort of person his parents wished he was.

Standing with a sigh, Bucky shut the gate to Cheddar's cage. He wiped his hands on his pants and headed out. His left hand was shaking already. Great.

"Can I help you?" he asked flatly.

"Hi," the guy said. "Do you work here?"

Bucky looked around, presumably for another staff member. "Uh, yeah."

"Oh, good. I'm looking to adopt a dog?"

A smile - this guy had blindingly straight white teeth as well. Bucky scratched the stubble on his chin. "We close in fifteen minutes."

"Well, can I just look around?"

Bucky shrugged. "Fine. But just so you know, you can't take a dog home tonight. There's paperwork and my supervisor has to be here." He opened the door to the dog cages.

"No problem."

At the scent of a stranger in the room, the dogs went on high alert. Some perked their ears and wagged their tails. Others whimpered and cowered in the back of their cages. One of the beagles - that would be Stella - began barking. Soon, her sister Izzy joined in.

Part of Bucky wanted to just leave the guy to wander around for fifteen minutes, but he might be able to move things along. Reluctantly he began asking the rote questions. "You got a certain breed you're looking for?"

In his head, he guessed. _Big dog. Not a mutt, he'll want a definite breed. German Shepherd, maybe. Or a retriever. A nice, vanilla Golden Retriever. Yes. The All-American breed that would match this guy's blond, All-American good looks._

The shelter did not have any Golden Retrievers. Families always snapped those dogs right up.

"I'm not sure. I just moved into this nice farmhouse, big yard and all. It's a little too big for me. I was thinking a dog would be nice company."

So the guy owned a house, too. Bucky looked him over again. The guy couldn't have been more than twenty-five, the same age as Bucky. Something about him seemed familiar.

Stopping in front of Spock's cage, the guy remarked, "This one seems friendly."

The staff had speculated that Spock was a mix of black lab and sheepdog. He had long black fur with one white paw and a friendly personality.

"You can pet him," Bucky said.

Spock was thrilled to be petted, and his tail thumped against the side of the cage. "You look kind of familiar," the guy said.

It took Bucky a second to realize the guy was talking to him and not to the dog. "Huh?"

"Yeah." The guy was looking at Bucky and smiling. Bucky drew his shoulders in. "I don't know, did we go to high school together? I went to West High? Class of '08?"

"Uh, yeah. I went there for a bit." Bucky stared at the duct tape holding his second-hand Doc Martens together. _Idiot,_ he told himself. _You didn't have to add that last part. You went there. End of story._

It wasn't the end of the story, but this guy didn't need to know that.

"Yeah..." The guy was saying now. "Yeah, I definitely remember you. Barnes, right? Bucky?" The guy winced a little at the nickname. "I hope we didn't call you that behind your back or anything."

"No, that's my name. It's short for my middle name. My mom's maiden name. Buchanan." Bucky's voice had grown quiet under the noise of the barking. He knew he was mumbling and just hoped this guy wouldn't ask him to repeat himself.

"Cool! I've got a pretty good memory for faces. You look a lot different than I remember. Your hair is longer." Bucky reached up then to touch his hair, which he'd thrown back in a loose bun as soon as the last staff person left. Most of his hair had fallen out of the rubber band. "I look a lot different than I did back then too."

At this, Bucky realized the guy wanted him to guess who he was. _Shit,_ he thought. "Sorry," Bucky said. "I was in a bad accident a while ago... I don't really remember you."

"Steve. Steve Rogers." That winning smile again. Bucky winced at the hand Steve held out. Luckily, it was the right hand, and Bucky reached out and shook it. He grimaced a little as his palm felt sticky moisture. "Oh, sorry. Dog drool. I wasn't thinking." Steve took his hand back and wiped it on those sparkling clean khakis without a second thought.

Bucky wiped his hand on his shirt, thinking. Steve Rogers. He looked up at Steve's face suddenly, and it all clicked into place. "I do remember you." He furrowed his brow. "You used to be smaller."

"That's right," Steve said. He stepped backwards to glance down at the dog in the next pen, a mutt named Koka. "You probably remember me as the short, skinny guy wheezing my way through gym class."

Actually, Bucky was remembering something else. A skinny kid, bent on defending him. Bucky, several inches taller, perfectly capable of defending himself against the jerks who had commented on his black eye.

He blinked. That had been... when? Fourth grade? Just before his stepfather had sent him off to a military boarding school. Despite the military school being used as a threat, those had been good years.

"And what's this one's name?" Steve was saying, looking at the nametag on the pen. "Pocket? That's cute." He reached in.

Bucky snapped out of his memories in time to lunge forward. "No!"

In slow motion, Bucky saw Steve turn toward him, saying, "Huh?" His hand still outstretched. And the teeth of the terrier named Pocket sinking into Steve's fingers.

2

"Shit. Fuck. Shit shit shit." Bucky couldn't stop swearing. In front of a customer. Who had just been bitten while Bucky was on duty. "Fuck."

"It's not that bad," Steve said. He looked at the thin trickle of blood dripping down his index finger, then at the first aid box Bucky had opened. "I think a Band-Aid will do it."

Bucky didn't respond. He dug through the box, finding endless rolls of gauze and tape and no actual bandages. He slammed the box shut and went to the shelves in the store room, which held the veterinary supplies. No regular bandages. "Come on," he muttered, and grabbed a bottle of peroxide and a pair of scissors before returning to Steve.

"I might have a Band-Aid in my car," Steve said.

Ignoring him, Bucky pulled out a roll of bandages with his right hand and unrolled it on the counter. Then he picked up the scissors. With a little glance toward Steve, and a shift to block Steve's view, he forced his left hand up onto the table to hold the bandages steady while he cut a few squares. He exhaled. Then he did the same with the tape, cutting several long strips and hanging them off the counter.

Now came the hard part.

"Put your hand down right there." Bucky indicated the table. He'd have to clean it later. Steve laid his hand down, palm up. His left hand shook as it held a cotton ball. His right hand poured a little too much peroxide, which splashed on the table. He'd clean that later, too. With his bottom lip caught in his teeth, Bucky cleaned the wound, put a few layers of the gauze over the wound, then slid his left hand over to hold it down while the other hand did the taping.

When the operation was complete, Bucky sighed and backed away. "Okay," he said. "Okay."

"Nice work," Steve said, admiring the bandage. "Although I still think a Band-Aid would have worked."

Bucky shrugged. "Shelter policy." It was also shelter policy to wear gloves when providing first aid. That would have been a nightmare.

"I get that. Well-oh, I'm sorry. I kept you past closing time." Steve indicated the clock, which showed five minutes past the hour. "I'll have to come back tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Bucky was working again tomorrow night. He suddenly wished he wasn't.

"Yeah. See you then? We can catch up. And hopefully I won't try to pet any more biters."

 _Catch up?_ The words did not compute. "Okay."

"Later."

After he left, Bucky locked the door and began cleaning off the table. Did Steve really want to "catch up" with him? Why? Bucky had only spent a couple of years at West. Hadn't graduated. Didn't really know anyone there. No friends. Bucky didn't really want Steve to come back. A shelter animal biting a customer usually ended with the animal being put down. If Steve never came back, Pocket might still have a chance. And Bucky's supervisor wouldn't have to question whether or not Bucky could handle his job. Bucky needed this job.

Bucky shut off the front lights, but instead of leaving, he headed into the kennel area again.

Crouching by Cheddar's pen, he rested his head against the chain link. Cheddar licked his forehead. "I just can't stop fucking things up," he whispered to his only friend.

3

The next day meant a splitting headache and a pit of nerves in his stomach. Some of that was due to lack of sleep. Nat had invited a bunch of friends over last night, and as usual they were loud and rowdy late into the night. Eventually one of the neighbors had called the police, but that wasn't until nearly one a.m. The thin walls that separated his little above-garage studio apartment from the rest of the house didn't stop the noise or the pot smoke that filtered through.

Bucky's eyes itched. He hoped Sharon, the shelter's vet, would have a big pot of coffee brewing at the shelter. She claimed it was for the customers, but she kept her own mug topped off throughout the day. "Never go to medical school," she always said, like that was even an option for Bucky. "I picked up so many bad habits." As far as Bucky could tell, the only bad habit was the coffee.

He got to work and immediately went for the morning joe, which at this point was afternoon joe and had a distinctly burned flavor. He grimaced.

"Rough night, Barnes?" Nick asked, coming into the room.

Bucky stared into his mug. "Loud neighbors," Bucky mumbled.

"Yeah? You weren't invited to the party? I'm shocked." Nick folded his arms across his chest. "How's the arm doing today?"

"It's fine." Bucky wished his normal hand would stop shaking, too, so he didn't look like a drug addict.

"Hi, Bucky!" Sharon said, sweeping into the room. "Oh, you're drinking the coffee. I'm sorry."

"It's not so bad," Bucky said.

"It is," Sharon said, wincing. Then her face brightened. "But I got this flavored creamer that will make it taste a ton better!"

"Full of chemicals, no doubt." With that comment, Nick made to leave the room, but before he did, he added over his shoulder, "Barnes, you got bath duty."

"Lucky you," Sharon said, opening the fridge. She uncapped a black bottle and poured a generous glop into Bucky's mug. "It's Irish cream flavor. Tastes soooo good!"

Bucky took a cautious sip. "It does taste better," he said. A little too sweet for his tastes, though. He preferred his coffee black.

"You can have some any time you want."

Wordlessly, Bucky pointed to the words written on the side of the bottle in silver Sharpie. DO NOT DRINK UNLESS YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH.

Sharon waved her hand. "I'll make an exception for you."

Phil came in then and started talking to Sharon about one of the cats throwing up. Bucky took the opportunity to gulp down the rest of the coffee and get to work.

A chart on the wall listed which animals needed bathing. It was a mess of crossed out lines and arrows to swap and names squeezed in. The population at the shelter was constantly changing. New animals arrived almost every other day, and others left, and some were sick and others got dirtier than expected in the outdoor play area. Bucky glanced over the list and saw, with a sinking in his stomach, that it was a volunteer day. That meant overseeing twenty Boy Scouts and twenty wet, unhappy animals all afternoon.

Needless to say, he was barely holding it together by afternoon's end. All he wanted was to have his dinner break and for everyone else to clear out. More than ever he needed some time alone. His neck felt sore from looking up every time the door opened. He realized he had been waiting for Steve to come back, earlier in the afternoon, so he could actually adopt one of the animals. "How'd you hurt your hand?" Bucky imagined Nick asking.

Then the heavyset man with the iguana walked in.

"I need to drop this thing off," the man announced. Bucky had just pulled his dinner - a cup of Ramen - out of his bag. He looked around and saw that he was the only one in the front office.

 _Damn._

"What?" he asked, turning to look at the man.

"I need to donate this, or whatever." The man held out the reptile. It was at least six feet long and had a little neon orange harness.

"Uh." Bucky looked back, desperately hoping to see someone, anyone, walk by the glass windows. No luck. "I don't know if we have a tank big enough for that. Um." Never mind that they didn't have many reptiles at the facility at all - only one giant boa constrictor brought in by a freaked out mother who hadn't realized her son had the animal hidden in his closet.

The man pushed the iguana at him. Bucky had no choice but to take it with his one good hand. His other hand refused to cooperate. "Come on," the man said crossly. The overhead lights shone off the man's bald head. "I don't have all day."

"Um." Bucky felt himself starting to panic. "I. Um. Hold on." He shoved the iguana back at the man. The creature hissed in displeasure. Bucky moved away to pull out one of the green recycling bins. A couple of folded pieces of cardboard lined the bottom. "Put it in here."

"Are you kidding me? This is how this place is run?" the man boomed. Despite his apparent outrage, he set the iguana down in the plastic tub. "Who's your boss?"

"Like I said, we don't have a tank big enough - " Bucky started to say, then Nick was there, like he'd been waiting for precisely this moment.

"What's the problem?" Nick asked coolly.

"I come in here to donate an animal, and this kid tells me to put it in a recycling bin! I see my tax dollars are hard at work, helping to hire incompetent delinquents."

"Excuse me, but you don't _donate_ animals to a shelter," came a voice behind the man. Bucky instantly recognized it. Steve. He closed his eyes. _Fuck my life,_ he thought. "You _abandon_ animals. You're abandoning this animal, so why do you care where it ends up?"

"Bucky, go get Phil," Nick said.

Relieved to get out of that situation, Bucky ducked through the door and located Phil going over some paperwork in Sharon's office. "Phil, Nick needs you," Bucky said, not even pausing. He went straight out the side door to the play area and flattened himself against the side of the building.

His heart hammered in his chest and his cheeks felt like someone had held his face over a hot stove. As if to add insult to injury, the sky had transformed into one of the most perfect sunsets Bucky had ever seen. He closed his eyes.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Bucky jerked away from the wall. Steve stood there, shading his eyes.

"That guy is a piece of work," Steve continued, ignoring the fact that Bucky hadn't answered. "Comes here to dump off his kid's pet then shits all over you. Unbelievable."

"Yeah," was all Bucky could think of to say. Today Steve wore a blue checkered button down shirt with his khakis. He looked just as put together as he had last night.

Meanwhile, Bucky could literally feel the weight of the bags under his own eyes.

"I didn't say anything last night, but, umm..."

Bucky looked up, dreading what Steve was going to ask. Was it weird that he noticed how Steve's eyes matched his shirt? He looked back down at his shoes. Yes. Definitely weird.

"What's wrong with your arm, anyway?"

There it was. "I told you, I was in an accident," Bucky snapped.

He pushed past Steve to the door, only to be stopped by Steve's hand on his arm. His bad arm. Pain flared up to his shoulder and he winced. Steve let him go. "Hey, Buck, I'm sorry. I knew I shouldn't have asked, but your boss in there was making you out to be this lazy idiot. I mean, if you have a disability-"

"I'm _not_ disabled," Bucky growled. He immediately felt awful for talking to Steve that way. He added lamely, "I just have some nerve damage."

"Whatever it is, it's unethical for your employer to act like you're just lazy. There's this little thing called the Americans with Disabilities Act-"

"I'm not disabled!" Bucky said again, and slammed inside, while Steve followed close behind. "What are you, a lawyer?"

"Look, I didn't mean to offend you..."

"It's fine," Bucky said curtly.

"Barnes?" Nick's voice boomed down the hallway. "My office. Now."

Bucky winced. This was it: he was getting fired this time, no doubt about it. He hunched his shoulders and slouched toward the office. Just before he reached the door, Steve said, "I'll wait for you out here."

Bucky almost turned back, but didn't. Still, he felt just a little bit lighter as he entered Nick's office and shut the door behind him.

4

"If you had to adopt one dog, which one would it be?" Steve asked.

True to his word, Steve had been waiting for Bucky outside of Nick's office. As Bucky grabbed his Ramen, Steve had leaned in and asked, "You still work here?" His breath had tickled on Bucky's neck.

The relief of it all had made Bucky almost smile, but he merely nodded and tossed the cup of noodles in the microwave. "Hold up," Steve had said. "That's your dinner?"

Bucky looked at Steve through his hair.

"Come on."

He wasn't sure why he had followed Steve two blocks to one of those food trucks. Maybe because he'd barely eaten all day with the stress of worrying about his job, and he was starving. Maybe because he was sure it was something Steve had said that had kept Nick from booting his ass. "Best arepas in town," Steve said.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. He didn't even know what an arepa was.

"Trust me."

Trust was something Bucky had little of, but the smells rolling off the food truck had his stomach ready. Turns out it was some kind of Venezuelan flatbread sandwich. "I got this," Steve said when it came time to pay. Bucky held out a few rumpled ones from deep in his pockets. "No, seriously. You basically performed surgery on my finger last night." Steve had pushed Bucky's money away. Bucky didn't know what else to do. He didn't want Steve thinking he was some kind of charity case. On the other hand, he was living off Ramen noodles, and he needed two of those dollars for the bus home tonight.

Now, their arepas fully devoured, strolling back to the animal shelter, Steve asked about Bucky's favorite dog.

"I like them all," Bucky said.

"Even Pocket?"

At that, Bucky had to actually smile. "Pocket just needs some retraining."

"Okay, let me phrase it this way: what dog would you pick for me to adopt?"

Bucky shrugged. "I don't know you that well."

"Come on. Take a wild guess."

"Spock's a nice dog," Bucky said.

"Yeah, sure, all right." For a moment Bucky thought he might have offended Steve with his choice. Maybe it was too _vanilla_ for Steve. "Now, which dog would you adopt? If you could only adopt one? And if you say Pocket, so help me... I don't know what I'd do, but it wouldn't be good." Steve laughed.

"Um..." He wanted to be honest. He wanted to tell Steve he'd adopt Cheddar in a heartbeat. Something made him stop. That trust thing. He barely knew Steve. "I can't have a dog where I live."

"So? You don't even think about it?"

Bucky shrugged. "What's the point."

"You live in an apartment, then, I take it?"

"Sort of." Bucky felt the need to fill the awkward silence that followed. "It's like a room, over a garage."

"Oh. You still live with your parents? That's fine, lots of my friends still-"

"No." Bucky's answer came out more forcefully than he'd intended. He didn't know what else to say so he said nothing, and the awkward silence returned.

By the time they got back to the shelter, Bucky wanted to crawl into one of the doghouses and die. Luckily, only Phil was left in the office. "Finally," he said when Bucky walked inside. "I had no idea where you were. You don't usually..." He caught sight of Steve coming in behind Bucky. "…leave for lunch... Hi. You were here earlier, weren't you? Are you..." Phil looked from Steve to Bucky and back to Steve. "...a friend of Bucky's?"

"Yeah. We went to high school together."

"Did you?" Now Phil gave Bucky a look.

Bucky glared at Phil. _Don't say anything,_ he thought at his coworker. _Don't say anything. Don't say it. Don't._

Phil apparently got the message, for all he did was raise an eyebrow at Bucky before changing tack. "You looking to adopt an iguana?"

Conversation seemed to come easily between the two, and Bucky took the opportunity to duck into the kennel and begin the nightly feedings. It was a noisy process, with each dog barking and yipping for their food, or pawing at the front of their cages in excitement. Bucky stopped at Cheddar's pen. He felt like he had betrayed the bulldog by not immediately telling Steve that Cheddar was his favorite. As though the dog could have sensed the betrayal, Bucky opened Cheddar's pen and gave him a good scratching.

"Ah, so this one's your favorite."

Bucky jumped up, caught his sleeve on the door, ripped it, knocked into the wheelbarrow that held the food, and spilled pellets all over the floor. "Shit," he said, and hurried to scrape up what he could before Cheddar inhaled it all.

He felt Steve kneel down beside him to scoop up dog food and deposit it into the small wheelbarrow. Their shoulders were touching. Bucky stood too quickly and felt the blood rush to his head. When his vision cleared, he looked down to see Cheddar snuffling up the stray pellets and Steve scratching the dog behind his ears.

"You like that, don't cha," Steve growled playfully. Cheddar lifted his head up and panted with his eyes closed while Steve scratched the sweet spot.

Bucky felt a stab of jealousy, then immediately cursed himself. Cheddar was a friendly dog. He loved anyone petting him. And if Steve adopted him, he'd have a huge yard. Steve would probably take Cheddar for walks every day, play frisbee with him on the weekends.

"Let me guess, he likes cheese," Steve said, breaking Bucky out of his trance. Cheddar had come to paw at the frayed cuff of Bucky's jeans. Smiling, Bucky bent down. It was okay. Cheddar still liked him best.

"Yup. I've been using it to train him."

"Does he do any cool tricks?"

Bucky crouched down and held his hand in the shape of a gun. "Bang bang," he said clearly.

Cheddar lay down and rolled over onto his side, then lay still.

Steve laughed and clapped his hands together. All the weeks Bucky had practiced trained with Cheddar became instantly worth it. "Good boy," Bucky crooned, and Cheddar's legs revved to life. He jumped up on Bucky's knees and began giving him a tongue bath.

Steve demanded more tricks. He helped Bucky to finish feeding the animals, then they took Cheddar outside to see the arsenal. Cheddar enjoyed having such an appreciative audience. Bucky let the dog burn off some energy while he and Steve sat down on the bench and looked at the sunset. It was another great one - this time Bucky could appreciate it.

"Hey, so I had another reason for coming back today," Steve said.

Out of habit Bucky stiffened. He didn't like ulterior motives.

"I was wondering... you know..."

Steve's uncertain tone made Bucky turn to really look at him. Another of his bad habits, he hardly ever looked anyone in the eye.

"The theater in town, I don't know if you know it, the little one that charges $2 admissions?"

Bucky nodded, not sure where Steve was going with this. "The Capitol? Yeah. Wait, do people still go there?"

"Mostly senior citizens, but yeah. They're showing my favorite movie this weekend. Citizen Kane. I was wondering... if you want to go with me?"

In the silence that ensued, so many thoughts flooded through Bucky's head he couldn't latch onto one long enough to respond.

 _A date? Is he asking me out on a date?_

 _(Not possible)(He can't possibly feel the same way as you do)_

 _But he wants to hang out with me?_

 _(Doesn't he have any other friends?)(Why would he want to hang out with me?)_

 _I could afford $2!_

 _(But can you afford popcorn? A soda? Dinner beforehand?)(He isn't asking me on a date)(No fucking way)(Why would he want to date you?)(He could have anyone)_

 _He's asking me to go to the movies, that's all_

 _(That's right, he pities you)(He's a crusader and you're his next charity case)(Better answer soon, you look like a deer in the headlights)_

"If you're not interested, that's okay," Steve was saying.

"Yes," Bucky blurted out.

Now it was Steve's turn to look surprised, though he recovered much more quickly, flashing a huge smile. "Really? Great! I wasn't sure you'd say yes. It's weird, when I saw you yesterday, something just clicked, you know?"

Bucky looked down at the holes in the knees of his jeans and allowed himself to smile. He knew. And even if it wasn't a date, which it probably wasn't, it couldn't be, it was at the very least the chance to have a friend.

5

When Bucky snapped awake, he was already sitting up, his hands clenched into fists. The darkness wrapped around him like a blindfold. His bad hand hurt. He could feel sweat pooled up in his palms, coating his skin enough to make his t-shirt cling to his back.

"James?"

Natasha's voice came with a sliver of blinding light from his door.

He tried to answer, but his voice wouldn't work.

"You were yelling," she whispered, opening the door wide enough to let herself in. She wore only an oversized Rolling Stones t-shirt, which showed off the pale expanse of her long legs. Her bare feet crossed the carpet to where he sat on his mattress on the floor. "Bad dream?"

"Yeah," he croaked, then cleared his throat.

He reached up with his good hand and began massaging his bad arm's bicep. The shooting pain wasn't much better than the pins and needles, and he reached for one of the orange prescription bottles on the overturned milk crate he used as a nightstand/dining table/desk. After struggling with the child-proof top, Nat took it from him and shook out two pills. He swallowed them dry, while she plopped down on his mattress beside him. Practically on top of him.

Her nails on his back called up a familiar comfort he didn't want. He shrugged away. "I bet Bruce wouldn't like you doing that."

"He's not the boss of me," she said. She pulled her knees up and rested her chin on them, looking sideways at Bucky. "It's just... He's not a fan of you living here."

"I'll move out tomorrow," Bucky shot back.

"You know I don't want that," she said quietly. After a long silence, she added, "It's not a healthy situation for either of us. You know that, right? Living in your ex-girlfriend's house is kind of... fucked up?"

He didn't know what to say to that. They both watched as the headlights of a passing car cast slid a square of light across the opposite wall.

"Look, I know you're trying. I'd just appreciate it if you were a little nicer to Bruce, given the situation."

"I am nice to him."

"You're _civil_ to him. He's actually really sensitive, you know."

"He sure gets pissed off easy enough."

"You set him off. He can tell you don't like him." Natasha sighed. "Most of the time he's super sweet. He's really smart too."

"I don't like how he talks to you," Bucky said. "Even if it's only when I'm around."

"It's none of your business," she snapped, then sighed again. In the darkness, Bucky couldn't see her face to gauge what she was thinking. "I'm worried that you're not moving on."

"Moving on? Or moving out?"

"Moving _on_ ," Nat stressed. "From everything. From the accident. From me and you."

It would be the perfect time to tell her he _was_ moving on. But he didn't want to tell Natasha about Steve just yet, and he definitely didn't want to use Steve's name vindictively. Instead, Bucky retorted, "Sounds like Bruce talking. He sleeping over tonight?"

"You know he is." Bruce slept over every night.

"I guess you'd better get back to bed then. He'll start to worry about what you're doing in here with me. Since I haven't moved on yet."

Nat stood up. "You're such a jerk sometimes, James." She stalked to the door and pulled it open. "I don't know why I bother."

She wasn't quiet about shutting the door behind her, and Bucky heard the rumblings of an argument starting from Nat's bedroom. He reached for the pill bottle and fished out two more. This time he chewed them so that the bitter taste coated his throat and matched his mood.

6

Thursday morning meant his one full daytime shift. He had just poured himself a mug of coffee when he saw Clint's beat up Oldsmobile bounce into the shelter's gravel parking lot. "Bit early, isn't it?" Nick said, having appeared beside Bucky. The shelter didn't open to the public until nine, and it was only quarter to.

"I know him," Bucky said, watching as Clint struggled to get something out of his back seat. Clint was Natasha's best friend, and while that didn't make him any friend of Bucky's, they knew each other well enough. _What's he doing here?_ Bucky wondered.

"Another friend? You're Mr. Popular all of a sudden."

Bucky winced - then thought of Steve, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. When he and Nick saw Clint stand up with the limp golden retriever in his arms, however, both of them rushed for the door.

"You have to help him!" Clint pleaded upon seeing them.

They helped Clint maneuver the unconscious animal inside, where Sharon met them and said, "Put him on the operating table in my office." She was already snapping on her gloves. Springfield was one of the lucky shelters to have a vet on staff, and although Sharon usually dealt with animals suffering from neglect or abuse, they had their share of animals found on the side of the road. Clint babbled the story of how he'd watched some car tear around a corner and hit the animal in question.

"The bastards took off. It was a total hit and run," Clint said. "But I memorized their license plate number. I'm so going to call in that favor and find out who they are, and then they'll be sorry!"

Clint gave Bucky a run for his money when it came to his life being a mess. Bad luck found him wherever he went. And bar fights. And other fights, over random shit like hitting a dog with a car. Bucky had a feeling that if the driver _had_ stopped, Clint would have clocked him one. Natasha certainly had a type.

"Bucky, can you take your friend outside?" Sharon asked. She seemed to have the situation well in hand. Bucky glanced at Nick, hoping this wasn't because Nick wanted him out of the way. Nick was busy following Sharon's orders.

 _Someday,_ Bucky thought, _I want to be the one to stay and assist._ He didn't think he could handle being in charge, like Sharon, but he could follow orders. He could do more than they let him.

"Come on," Bucky said, pulling Clint along by his elbow. "We're in the way."

He closed the door to Sharon's office behind him. Back in the lobby, Clint made a beeline for the coffee. "Goddamn bastards made me spill my coffee, too."

"What happened to your face?" Bucky asked, nodding at the bandage positioned across the bridge of Clint's nose and the shiner on his cheekbone.

"Ah." Clint took a long sip of coffee and scratched the back of his head. "There was this dude at the bar last night who kept groping his date. Total dickhead." Another sip. "You think Lucky will be okay?"

"Lucky?"

Clint jerked his head at the closed door to Sharon's office. "That's what his name tag says. Ironic, huh?"

Bucky nodded, then pushed away from the counter. "I gotta get to work," he said. "You want me to call you once we know..." He couldn't bring himself to say the words.

"Nah. I'm gonna stay for a bit."

"Don't you have work?" Clint was wearing a suit. A rumpled suit, covered in dog hair, dirt, and blood stains, but what appeared to be "work clothes."

"Eh. I'm on the outs there anyways."

Bucky had no idea what Clint's job was, and he didn't really care, so he shrugged and headed back to the dogs. He wanted to spend some time with Pocket in the training area. _Wouldn't that impress Steve,_ he thought, then blushed. Good thing he was alone. He was grinning like an idiot.

All day he found himself glancing up at the office. It wasn't like the other day, when he dreaded Steve walking through that door. Now he wanted it to happen. He wanted Steve to stop by and take him out to lunch. To sit with him while the dogs ran around in the play area.

 _Stupid,_ he kept telling himself. _Steve owns a house. That means he has a job. A real job. Not like this part-time crap you're doing._

He frowned at some of these thoughts. _This IS a real job. I get paid real money. So what if it isn't full-time?_

Then, _What is Steve's real job? How could I not have asked him that?_

He knew it was stupid to hope that Steve was going to come visit him again. Three days in a row would be creepy, somehow. He tried to distract himself, thinking about the plans for their date.

 _Probably not even a date. You're just hanging out. As friends._

Steve had asked for Bucky's number, but Bucky hadn't wanted to give him Nat's house phone number, and he didn't have a cell phone. "No cell phone?" Steve had been incredulous. He'd already pulled out his iPhone to enter in Bucky's number. "I can't even imagine it." He made a face like he was trying really hard to picture it. "Nope, can't do it." Then, pocketing his phone, Steve said, "Must be peaceful," with something like admiration in his voice.

With no phone number, Steve had then suggested he pick Bucky up at his house.

"Uh..." Flashes of Steve seeing Nat's run-down split level, the patchy lawn and the beer cans in the overgrown shrubbery. More flashes of Natasha taking Steve up to Bucky's room, of him seeing the mattress on the floor, the milk crate furniture, the pill bottles. "Maybe I could just meet you there?"

He'd have to take the bus. Maybe he could leave extra early so Steve didn't have to know. Steve probably knew he didn't have a car. Anyone could look at him and know he didn't have a car. That was always Nat's excuse: "He doesn't have anyplace to go, Bruce. He doesn't even have a car to sleep in! He'd be one of those people living in a cardboard box!"

Steve hadn't seemed to mind the idea of meeting up at the theater, and now Bucky's mind tripped along to how he would get home. He cringed at the idea of Steve following him to the bus stop to wait for the Night Owl, which came once an hour. And if Steve offered him a ride home... Bucky pictured riding in the shiny red SUV he'd seen Steve drive off in last night. It would be dark, and Steve wouldn't be able to get a good look at the house.

 _Yes, that would be okay._

In addition to checking the door for Steve - _idiot, he isn't coming -_ he kept peeking at Sharon's office. At one point he saw Nick emerge and speak with Clint, then Nick had leaned into the kennel and asked Bucky to help Maria take care of the cats - a job which Nick usually did himself. "I have to make some phone calls," he explained.

"Sure." Bucky gave Cheddar a good-bye scratch, then headed across the hall. Here was his chance to prove to Nick that he wasn't a total fuck-up. Maria and Nick were tight, and she'd be sure to tell him if Bucky had done a job.

Now the hours flew by. Bucky looked up at the clock and was surprised to see that it was nearly five. His stomach growled as if to reinforce that it was dinner time, and to remind Bucky that he hadn't eaten lunch.

"See you tomorrow," he said to Maria, grabbing his backpack and heading into the lobby. He stopped short when he saw that Clint was still sitting there. A glance at Sharon's office showed it to be open and empty.

"Hey." Bucky nudged Clint, who snorted and jerked awake.

"Huh? What? I didn't do it," Clint said.

"How come you're still here?" Bucky asked. "Is that dog okay?"

Clint collapsed back into the chair. "Yeah, Lucky's going to be okay. A broken leg and some broken ribs and stuff, but now he's sleeping and he'll be okay." He rubbed his face.

"So... how come you're still here?"

"Well, first I was waiting to see if they could find out who the owner was. Then I fell asleep. Then they told me they posted it on some website for lost dogs, and it was almost four by then, and I was still tired, so I figured I'd take a nap and then give you a ride home."

"Oh." Bucky hadn't expected that last part. "Thanks."

Clint waved his hand. "No big. I figured I'd visit Nat anyway. She knows the guy who owes me the favor."

As they drove out of the parking lot, Bucky found himself still looking for Steve's car.

 _I'm hopeless,_ he thought.

7

"Hey, um, do you mind if I take a shower?" Bucky peeked into the kitchen, where Bruce was cooking up something that smelled delicious and Natasha was watching from her seat on the countertop.

"Please do," Natasha said. "I was going to mention the smell."

Bucky made a face at her, then noticed the way Bruce tensed up and dropped his gaze to the floor. "I'll try to be quick."

This was the whole reason he didn't shower very often. He always felt like he needed to ask permission, even though he paid rent and technically that should have given him the right to use the bathroom whenever he wanted. Then there was the matter of the bathroom itself. Natasha wasn't big on cleaning. Towels lay in heaps on the floor, the tiles had a healthy layer of soap scum and mildew, and there was toothpaste in the sink. Sometimes Bucky had flashes of the pristine bathrooms of his parents' house, then he'd clench his teeth together and shove his face into the hot water like it could wash away his memory.

A towel wrapped around his waist, Bucky wiped the mist from the mirror. He needed to shave, but the last time he used one of Nat's razors she had bitched about it for weeks, and he wasn't about to touch Bruce's expensive-looking electric razor. With a sigh, he combed his wet hair back and experimented with the part in his hair before shaking it out and leaving it to dry the way he normally did. His hair was clean now, anyway. He'd pull it back once it was dry, that would look better.

He almost left the bathroom without brushing his teeth, then remembered. His left hand holding the toothbrush shook as he applied the toothpaste, then he switched hands to do the brushing. Was there anything else he needed to do while he had the bathroom? It had been a good long time since he'd gone on a date - if it was even a date.

Then Nat knocked softly on the bathroom door and whispered that Bruce needed to use it, so Bucky picked up his dirty clothes and headed out.

"It'd be great if my girlfriend's ex didn't stroll through the house half naked," Bruce said, passing him on the stairs.

Bucky glared at him and said nothing. He wanted to be nice, but it was hard when the guy picked apart everything Bucky did like it was a personal affront. _Sorry I don't have my own bathroom_ , he wanted to say. _Sorry I don't own a fancy robe like you do. Sorry I exist._

In the sanctuary of his own room, he went through his clothes, pulling out his good pair of jeans - the ones that had only one hole near the pocket - and a clean v-neck t-shirt, black, always black, so it didn't show the stains. It was warm enough that he could forgo the plaid flannels he wore like a second skin, but he needed something to cover the scars on his arm. He dug through his piles of clean and clean-ish clothes. He turned up a green plaid flannel that wasn't too frayed, then spotted some soft looking gray material at the very bottom of his pile of clothes.

Even as he pulled it out, he knew he shouldn't, and yet he couldn't stop himself. The gray cashmere sweater would be perfect. Soft - _touchable -_ and clean. Pristine, in fact, because he had never worn it. He ran his palm over the wool and remembered word for word the note that had come along with it, over three years ago:

"Dear James,

I saw this and knew you'd look dashing in it. I miss you so much... Please call. I will answer anytime, anywhere. Please remember that no matter how old you get, you are still my baby boy. Happy birthday.

Love, Mom XOXO"

Two drops splattered onto his hand. He swallowed past the thickness in his throat, then wiped his wet eyes with the back of his hand.

Bucky had hoped to sneak out of the house without attracting any attention. He waited until he heard the clink of forks on plates and quiet conversation that meant Bruce and Natasha were eating dinner, then headed down the stairs. His plan had been to shoot straight for the door, but he had no sooner called out, "See you later," than Natasha was in front of him, stopping him with a hand on his chest.

"Hold up, you're going out?"

"Yes," he said through his teeth, knowing what was coming next.

She rubbed her hand over his pectoral muscle, and he backed away, just as Bruce came around the corner. "I've never seen this sweater before," she said in a sing-song voice. "A shower, a new sweater..." She pretended to think, then said, "You have a date!"

He sighed.

"Who's the girl?" Natasha purred. "What does she look like? Is she prettier than me?" Nat batted her lashes at him. Bruce cleared his throat, and Natasha stopped preening. "Come on! I want details. Where did you meet her? What does she do?"

Bucky didn't know how to answer any of these questions.

"Don't make things awkward, Natasha," Bruce broke in. "He's allowed to go on a date without having to tell his ex-girlfriend all about it. Give the guy a break." He looked at Bucky without contempt in his eyes for once. "Good for you, moving on."

"Hold on," Natasha said when he tried once more to leave. "Come on. You can at least tell me her name! What's her name?"

Bucky stood there, wishing he had followed through on any of his previous threats to move out.

The smile grew on Nat's face. "I know why you won't tell me." She waggled a finger at him. "It's a boy. You're going on a date with a boy!" She jumped up and down and clapped her hands.

"Wait, what?" said Bruce. "Are you gay? Not that there's anything wrong with that. But... gay?" He turned to Natasha. "Maybe you could have mentioned that?" He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, "So many fights we could have avoided."

Bucky felt his face turn what was surely a nice shade of beet red.

"No, he's not gay. He's bi," Nat explained. "Likes both boys and girls. Didn't I ever tell you that? I thought I might have mentioned it. Once. When I was drunk."

"Nope." Bruce folded his arms.

Bucky edged toward the door.

"Not so fast." Nat plucked at his sleeve.

He heaved a sigh. "His-name-is-Steve-and-I-met-him-at-the-animal-shelter."

Nat grinned and released him. "You may go now," she granted. "But I want details tomorrow. Promise?"

"Fine," he grunted, then made his escape.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and hurried to the bus stop. The May air was still cool enough to offer some relief for his face, which still burned. _I need to find a new place to live_ , he thought. _Just to have a little privacy_.

By the time he arrived at the movie theater, he felt slightly more confident. His face had returned to its normal color, and his bad arm had worked well enough that Bucky was able to pull his hair back, and according to the plate glass window of the shop next door, it didn't look bad. Now he just had to wait.

After what seemed like forever, Bucky wandered closer to the theater entrance to peek at the clock inside. Seven on the dot. Then he actually looked at the movie showtimes. Citizen Kane wasn't playing until 8:30. Had he gotten the time wrong? There was a six o'clock show too. Maybe Steve had said to meet at six, and Bucky was late, and Steve thought Bucky had stood him up. In a panic, he spun around, and his stomach did a funny little flip.

There was Steve.

8

Could his t-shirt be any tighter? That was all Bucky could think as he watched Steve walk down the sidewalk toward him. The bright blue cotton clung to Steve's body so closely that Bucky could make out his firm pectorals and washboard abs. Bucky was sure that if Steve removed his aviator sunglasses, the blue of his eyes would perfectly match that shirt.

Coupled with the dark jeans riding low on Steve's hips, the effect was devastating, and Bucky had to remember how to breathe.

"I hope you haven't been waiting too long," Steve called out.

Bucky shook his head. He needed to stop smiling so much. "The movie isn't until eight-thirty," Bucky said.

"Yeah, I figured we could grab some drinks beforehand? I hope that's okay."

"Sure."

"There's this little place up the block, Clark's Tavern? You know it?"

"Yeah." Bucky never went out, but he knew Clark's. "Uh, that guy Phil I work with at the shelter? He owns that place."

"Really," Steve drawled. They started walking, side by side. "He didn't much seem like the bar-owning type when I talked to him. More like the dad-joke type."

"He is. The dad-joke type, I mean. So lame. But he also brews his own beer. Get him started, and he'll talk about beer and hops and fermentation all night." Suddenly Bucky realized Phil would see him out with Steve. He prayed Phil wasn't working.

The walk to Clark's was a short one, and soon they were pushing through the doors and seating themselves near the taps. The bar was made out of reclaimed timber and fit the industrial chic feel of the place. It was early enough that the place wasn't yet crowded. Bucky felt himself loosen up a bit.

"My friend Sam told me about this place," Steve was saying, looking up at the long list of beer selections. "He's a big fan of the karaoke on Friday nights."

"Well, look who it is!" Phil exclaimed, popping out of nowhere. Under the bar Bucky dug his fingers into his knees, trying not to freak out. Phil pointed a finger-gun at Steve. "You were at the animal shelter the other day."

"I was." To Steve's credit, he didn't comment on Phil's lameness. "You're Phil, right?"

"Right-O."

If there was anyway Bucky could have teleported them into some other bar in some other part of town, he would have.

"Two guys out on the prowl, eh? What are you drinking?"

"We haven't decided yet," Bucky muttered, at the same time that Steve said, "I hear you're quite the connoisseur."

Phil tried to appear humble and failed. After yammering on about barrels versus kegs and the "authentic oaky flavor," Phil poured out two glasses of his personal brewery's summer blend. He waited until they had each taken a sip and assured him that it was quite possibly the best beer they had ever tasted before moving on to take care of two women at the end of the bar.

"I thought he'd never leave," Bucky sighed.

Steve licked his lips and examined the amber liquid in his mug. "Tastes kind of like grass."

Bucky laughed, probably too loudly for the situation, but he didn't care.

"So how long have you worked at the animal shelter?" Steve asked. "Seems like a cool job."

"I like it a lot," Bucky admitted. "I've been there a little less than a year. It's the first job I've really liked."

"You're great with the animals."

Bucky ducked his head. "Thanks. I've been meaning to ask what you do for work." _Wow, way to carry a conversation_. He took a big swallow of his beer.

"Right now, I'm kind of... between jobs."

"Really?" Bucky asked. Steve certainly hadn't come across as unemployed.

"Yeah. I joined the army the second I graduated, and I've been serving ever since. Worked my way up to Captain. I don't know, after seven years and four tours in Iraq, I realized I didn't want to be a soldier for the rest of my life."

"So you just quit?" Bucky thought about it. "Can you do that? Just quit the army?"

Steve shrugged. "Well, I didn't quit, exactly. I'm technically still in the reserves."

"I didn't think soldiers got paid that much. Not enough to buy a house, anyway." Owning a house was so far beyond what he could ever imagine affording.

"They don't. As a captain, I made pretty good money, but... Ah, you're going to think I'm such a spoiled brat."

"Why?"

"I have this trust fund. My grandparents set it up, and I wasn't allowed to touch the money until I turned twenty-five. I mean, they died when I was five, and my parents died when I was a freshman, but the law's the law. I wasn't allowed to touch that money. I suppose if I'd gone to college I could have used it." Steve shrugged. "I always wanted to serve my country, like my dad did, and my grandad. A proud Rogers tradition."

Furrowing his brow, Bucky said, "You're not a spoiled brat. I mean, your parents _died_." Bucky couldn't help thinking of his childhood: the housekeeper, the gardener, the nannies, the gleaming row of BMWs in the five-car garage. At one time, he'd probably had a trust fund. Now he was surely disinherited.

"It was hard. I lived with my aunt and uncle... Anyway, that's a depressing topic. Back to you." Steve leaned forward with a grin.

What followed was a series of questions about Bucky's favorites: favorite animal (dog), favorite food (NOT Ramen), favorite music (classic rock, especially Pink Floyd), favorite book, favorite movie, favorite color. After his initial discomfort at being the center of attention and his fear that the questions were going to delve into his past, Bucky began to relax and enjoy Steve's company. They sat shoulder to shoulder as more people filled the bar, and at one point Bucky felt something brush the back of his hand and looked down to see Steve's knuckles touching his as they each held their near-empty glasses.

"Refill?" Phil asked. "Or perhaps you'd like to try my Strawberry Harvest Ale?"

"Uh..." Steve and Bucky looked at each other. "You got anything a little more... traditional?"

With two glasses of Phil's Original Wheat Lager in hand, Steve and Bucky looked around and really noticed how full the place was... and realized the two women who had been at the other end of the bar earlier were now sitting in the seats beside Bucky.

"Hey, boys," said the one with the short blonde bob. "What are you drinking?"

"Phil's special blend." Steve raised his voice to carry over the crowd. "You girls know Phil?"

"You're hot," said the other woman, who had long light brown hair and bracelets jingling on both arms.

Her friend looked scandalized. "Cara!"

"What?" Cara said. She smiled lazily at Steve, then looked Bucky up and down. "You boys want to buy us a round?"

"I'm so sorry," said Cara's friend. "She's been drinking martinis."

To Bucky's surprise, Steve pulled out his wallet. "Sure." He flagged Phil down and bought the girls some drinks.

Cara planted her elbow in front of Bucky and slurred, "I've been making eyes at you boys all night. Tell me, why are all men so oblivious?"

Bucky grabbed his beer before Cara could knock it over, and started guzzling.

"She's recently divorced," Cara's friend said, as if that explained the behavior. She sipped her own drink, a Long Island Iced Tea. Steve, the polite guy he was, asked the girls their names and what they did. Naturally they swooned when they found out he was a soldier. Meanwhile, Bucky drained his glass and wondered what had gone wrong.

 _See? This isn't a date. Steve is a ladies' man._

Then Cara put her hand down on Bucky's thigh, and Bucky jumped sideways off his barstool, slamming into Steve as he staggered back. "Jumpy, are we?" Cara purred.

He knew he had overreacted - _her hand had been really fucking close to his junk -_ but Steve just smiled and stood as well. "Unfortunately, ladies, we have a movie to catch," he said smoothly, and laid some money down on the bar.

Face burning, Bucky now realized it had been a bad idea not to eat beforehand. He'd been too nervous. And now, he was too drunk.

"Come on," said Steve, slinging his arm around Bucky's shoulders.

"Sorry," Bucky mumbled as he staggered through the crowd. "I'm really drunk."

"That you are, my friend." Outside, the evening air felt good. "Should make this movie interesting."

Bucky hung back while Steve paid for their tickets. He had folded some money in his pocket, and he wished he could smoothly offer to pay for something. Anything. Right now, smooth wasn't going to describe any of his actions, so he let the brick wall hold him up until Steve returned with the tickets. That was when he noticed he had somehow spilled beer on Steve's shirt.

 _Why am I such a fuck-up?_

"Okay, now we just need to sneak past the usher and we'll be good to go. You up for it?"

Bucky swallowed, blinked, and nodded.

He followed Steve, weaving only a little. Kept his head down past the bored teenager in the blue vest ripping tickets. Stumbled going through the door to the theater, righting himself by grabbing Steve's arm. "Watch your step," Steve laughed, and then he picked two seats directly in the center of the back row.

"I like sitting in the way back," he explained. "You get to people-watch before the movie."

Bucky rested his head on the back of the seat and attempted to watch some people. He was more interested in the vaulted ceiling and the red velvet curtains on either side of the screen. The chairs were covered in threadbare red velvet, too. "This place is real old-timey," he said. _Get it together, Barnes_.

Steve chuckled. "Who knew you'd be such a lightweight?" he laughed. "I swear, I'm not judging you. I'm not."

Bucky flopped his head toward Steve. Steve didn't seem to be laughing at him, anyway. "I didn't eat dinner," Bucky tried to explain.

"That would do it. I'll grab us some popcorn, maybe that would help? Candy? What do you want?"

With a massive effort, Bucky pushed himself upright. "I got this." He dug into his pocket and pulled out his money.

"I can get it. It's no problem." Steve was already standing.

"No." Bucky's voice came out louder than he meant it to. He shoved the bills at Steve. "I'll pay. Let me pay for something."

Steve accepted the money with a patient smile. "Okay. I'll be right back, okay?"

In Steve's absence, Bucky closed his eyes. He should never have agreed to go drinking. He almost never drank, except for those few times Natasha came in and dragged him out of his room to join some gathering she had orchestrated, which usually left him blacked out drunk and hungover. "Stupid," he muttered to himself.

It didn't seem like Steve had been more than a minute before he was settling into his seat and setting a large tub of popcorn in Bucky's lap. "Eat," Steve commanded. He also had two large sodas: "One's Coke and one's Sprite... I didn't know which kind you liked, so I'll drink whichever one you don't want."

Bucky ate and began to feel a little bit better.

As the lights dimmed, Steve leaned over and whispered, "I forgot to tell you... You clean up nice."

Then they were alone in the dark together.

9

To Bucky's total embarrassment, he fell asleep during the movie and woke up to find his head resting on Steve's shoulder.

"It wasn't that the movie was boring," he tried to tell Steve. "Drinking makes me tired."

Steve just laughed. "Don't worry about it. Old movies aren't for everyone."

"No, it was a good movie! The parts I saw, I mean." He struggled to think of any part of the movie had actually seen besides the opening credits.

They had wandered down the sidewalk, Bucky trailing behind Steve. When they arrived at Steve's car, Steve asked, "You want a ride home?" He jangled his car keys in his hand.

Flutters stirred in Bucky's gut. "Sure," he said.

Once they had both gotten into the car, Steve asked, "What's your address?"

"Ash Street. Number ten."

Steve plugged the address into his GPS while Bucky snapped on his seatbelt. "Your car is so clean," Bucky said. "Is it new?"

"Nope. Almost four years old, actually."

"Wow." He never would have thought an older car could look like this. Natasha's car was disgusting, and so was Clint's: he usually had to clear trash off the passenger seat if they were giving him a ride.

Steve shifted into drive. Before he could hit the gas, however, Bucky asked, "Aren't you going to put on your seatbelt?"

"Oh." Steve looked over at him. Not at the seatbelt. His eyes made contact with Bucky's, and in that moment Bucky felt almost naked. "I suppose I should," Steve said finally, and pulled his seatbelt on.

Bucky released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

Maybe Steve was normally a conservative driver, or maybe he had read Bucky's mind back in the parking lot - whatever the case, Steve drove exactly the speed limit, used his turn signals, and took his corners with extreme care.

It wasn't like Bucky was afraid of riding in cars. With his buzz wearing down, and a headache beginning to pulse at his temples, and the dark night pressing against the car windows, the memories loomed large and dangerous. He hadn't been in a car at night in a long time. Most of the time, if he needed a ride, it was during the day. A ride to work. A ride to the doctor's office, to the bank. _I had a good night_ , he told the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. _Mostly. It was a good night. Fuck off._

The flashing of headlights wasn't helping. Nor was Bucky's sudden anxiety, as Steve had a one-sided conversation. "I had a lot of fun tonight. You'll have to meet my friend Sam. Maybe we could meet him for karaoke next Friday?" It was end-of-date talk. What else happened at the end of a date? A goodnight kiss.

Bucky swallowed and pressed his skull back into the headrest. As much as he had thought about it, of touching Steve's freshly shaven jawline, he couldn't. Not right now. His head was throbbing. His bad arm ached - _it had been almost normal all night -_ now he would pay the price for it.

"This your place?" Steve asked, peering through the windshield at Nat's house.

"This is it," Bucky said, fumbling with his seatbelt. _Fucking hand. Work. Come on, just let me out._ Finally it unclicked and he ripped it off his body.

"Doesn't look like an apartment building."

"It isn't. I live over the garage."

"Is it, like, your friend's house or something?"

 _What's with the twenty questions?_ Bucky thought angrily, then realized what Steve was doing. He wanted to keep Bucky in the car. He wanted to give Bucky that goodnight kiss. Bucky glanced over at Steve, who was still looking at the house.

"Yeah. My friend Nat. Natasha. Romanoff? Do you remember her from school? She went to school with us." Maybe if he talked fast enough, he could distract Steve from the overgrown lawn, and the piles of trash by the mailbox. "It's kind of weird, she's my ex-girlfriend, actually, but she's giving me a huge break with the rent. I can't really afford to live anywhere else."

 _Shouldn't have said that. Shouldn't have said any of that. Idiot._

"I remember her," Steve said. He turned slowly to look at Bucky, then sat back and smiled. "Well, have a good night."

Bucky hesitated. His hand was already on the door handle. Maybe Steve had been able to tell that Bucky wasn't feeling well? That no matter how much Bucky wanted to kiss Steve, he'd rather be upstairs in his dark room, crunching down pills?

He wanted his first kiss with Steve to be different. Not something he did while powering through a headache.

He opened the car door and stepped out. "I had a really good time tonight," he said. "Thanks."

"No problem."

Bucky hesitated once more, then shut the door. Why did he have to be so awkward? Steve gave a little wave, then began backing out of the driveway.

Once in his room, with pain medication pumping through his veins, Bucky lay on his side in bed. His eyes didn't want to close. His brain wanted to keep reliving all the terrible moments: when Bucky had slammed into Steve at the bar, all the stupid things he said when he was drunk, the awkwardness in the car.

Then Bucky remembered how he had felt, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, the warmth of Steve's body seeping through his sweater. The way Steve's knuckles had brushed against his, accidentally-on-purpose. The feel of Steve's breath against his ear.

He remembered those pleasant minutes after he had woken up in the movie theater with his head resting on Steve's shoulder, how he had pretended to be asleep for just a minute longer.

His body curled around those long moments and, smiling, he fell asleep to the memory of Steve's calm, steady heartbeat.

10

The following days passed in a blissful blur. He had awoken Sunday morning without a trace of a hangover, and his dopey grin as he washed up led to Nat leaning in and demanding the promised details. Bucky was more than willing to spend the entire day talking about Steve, who Natasha remembered from school.

"He was always so short," she kept saying. "You need to show me a picture of what he looks like now. I can't even imagine what you're telling me."

This led to a Facebook-stalking session on Nat's iPad, which Bucky cut short because it made him feel like a creeper, and also made him wish he had his own computer so he could browse through Steve's online photos in private.

"My, he has grown," Natasha purred. "I wonder what other parts of him have grown."

Bucky hadn't spent this much time alone with Nat in a long time, but Bruce actually seemed cool with it. The day bloomed bright and sunny. Bruce threw some meat on the grill and there was an impromptu cookout. Clint and most of Nat's usual crowd showed up. He wished he had Steve's number to invite him over - then he thought he didn't want to seem clingy. There was that two-day rule, right?

Still, Bucky hung around for longer than usual before retreating to the relative peace of his room. He picked up the gray sweater and pressed it to his face. He could still smell Steve on it.

Bucky figured Steve would show up at the animal shelter while he was working. He tried not to get too worked up when Steve didn't show on Monday - two-day rule and all. By the end of Tuesday, when Steve had still not stopped by, the negative thoughts began to creep back in.

 _Why did you have to get drunk? You were such a mess. No wonder he wants nothing to do with you._

After he snapped at Maria, Nick told him he needed to "chill out." He assigned Bucky to feeding some of the animals in the infirmary, including the dog Clint had found.

"Fine," Bucky grunted.

It turned out that the quiet of the infirmary was just what he needed. The animals here were too sick or injured to give Bucky much trouble, so he could relax and focus his attention on one at a time. He nestled a kitten that had been rescued from a home in the next town over in the crook of his bad arm and fed it from a little bottle. The kitten had been rescued from the home of one of those cat ladies, who'd had over fifty cats living in her neglected property. Apparently, Animal Control had also found three dead kittens. This little guy, who Bucky called Marmalade, had been the only kitten found there.

Long after the bottle of milk had been drunk, he stroked the white fur on the kitten's stomach and hummed to it.

He also had the opportunity to check in on Lucky, the dog Clint had brought in.

"Your friend keeps calling," came Nick's voice from the doorway.

"Steve?" Bucky asked quickly.

"If that's the fella who brought that dog in, yeah."

"Oh. No, that was Clint." Immediate, crushing disappointment.

"Hard to keep all your boyfriends straight."

Bucky's face reddened.

"You can tell him we still haven't had any hits on who his owner is. We'll keep it posted, but if no one's come in by week's end, the dog is his. We won't even charge an adoption fee, since there's the possibility his owner will show up."

Bucky nodded.

"You okay, Barnes?"

Was that a hint of real concern in Nick's voice?

"I'm fine," he said, and turned back to Lucky, who thumped his tail.

By Wednesday, Bucky was nowhere near fine. Clint showed up, which meant Bucky's heart jumped, thinking that blond head was Steve's. Once the crushed hope faded, he started following Clint around. "Have you ever heard of the two-day rule? Like for dating?"

"Uh, yeah. Hasn't everyone?"

"I mean, do you always wait two days after a date to call someone? Do you ever wait longer? What if the person doesn't have a phone?"

Clint stopped feeding Lucky pepperoni-flavored dog treats. "Who doesn't have a phone?"

Unsurprisingly, Clint was no help at all, so Bucky decided to ask the same questions of everyone else in the building. He was mostly told that he needed to "relax," although Nick was fairly blunt. Not that Bucky had asked Nick - he just happened to be walking by as he spoke to Maria about it. "Sounds like she's just not that into you," Nick said.

"He," Maria corrected.

Time for Bucky to get the hell out of there. It didn't stop him from bugging Nat when he got home from work. "What do you think?"

"Sorry to say, but maybe your boss is right," she said. "But it's possible that he has some excuse for not stopping by the shelter. Or here, even. Maybe something came up. A new job, a death in the family... could be anything."

Bucky doubted something had come up. After reanalyzing every moment of their date, he had come to the conclusion that something had changed at the very end. Steve had been enthusiastic about going out again, meeting his friend Sam. Then he had curtly wished Bucky a good night.

He had to do something. Half the night he tossed and turned in bed. By the time the sun's first ray shone through his curtain, he knew what he had to do.

"Where are you off to so early?" Nat asked as he cut through the kitchen. She was curled up on a kitchen chair, sipping coffee. Bruce peeked over the morning paper.

"Library," he said, and he was out the door.

He didn't have cash for the bus, which meant walking into town. The day was already hot and sticky, making him regret wearing long jeans (ventilated with all the holes, but still) and the green plaid shirt over his t-shirt. He didn't have any black t-shirts left, and this white one had a coffee stain near the hem and a hole under his armpit, but that was what the shirt over it was for.

Arriving at the library shortly after the place opened, Bucky hesitated to approach the reference librarian. He'd never asked for help at the library before. The woman looked nice enough, her gray hair feathered soft around her face. Then she noticed him hovering nearby and asked, "Can I help you with finding anything?"

He tried to explain what he was looking for without making it sound like he was a stalker. "Can you look up who owns a house?"

The librarian didn't seem to think the question was odd, and she quickly showed him a state-run website with a database of deeds. "You can search by the house number, the owner, or the seller."

A mere half hour later, Bucky had an address scrawled on a slip of paper in his pocket, along with directions from Google Maps. A forty-five minute walk. Not too bad. And the shelter was on the way. Even though he wasn't working, he decided to stop by.

"You think I could take Cheddar for a nice long walk?" he asked Phil.

"Be my guest. I heard there might be thundershowers later, but looks okay now."

So far, so good. Bucky allowed himself to feel hopeful as he grabbed one of the leashes from the hooks near the door. Cheddar danced around excitedly while Bucky clipped the leash on, and then they were off.

 _What if he isn't even home?_

 _What if he is home?_

 _What if he doesn't want to see you?_

 _What if he thinks you're stalking him?_

He was jittery with adrenaline. Soon the crowded houses of downtown were behind them, and the buildings came fewer and farther between.

 _This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. The worst idea you've ever had. So you went out with a guy, and he realized he's not interested. It happens. Get over it._

Twice Bucky actually turned around. Cheddar followed at his heels, panting, never hesitating even as Bucky spun back toward Steve's house.

When he had first started out, the skies were a bright, clear blue, like Steve's eyes, but now, a hot wind had started to blow, and Bucky saw a dark cloud forming behind him. He picked up his pace.

Every time they passed a mailbox, he checked the slip of paper in his pocket, even though he had memorized the information before he had even left the library. Fifty. Fifty-two. Fifty-eight. The numbers marched inevitably toward #73: Steve's house.

A dark rumble filled the sky. Cheddar froze and looked up. Bucky tugged at the leash. "Come on," he said. Cheddar walked on, but when thunder cracked, Cheddar scurried next to Bucky's leg and whimpered.

"It's just a little thunder," Bucky said softly, stroking the dog's wide head. Cheddar was not convinced, especially when lightning illuminated the sky. He jumped at the next clap of thunder, and Bucky decided he might have a better chance of making it to Steve's house before the rain if he picked Cheddar up and carried him. The clouds were gathering directly overhead now. Bucky hurried along with Cheddar in his arms like a baby.

When they passed number 71, Bucky looked up at the next house on the road, half a mile in the distance. This was it. This was Steve's house. The farmhouse was a traditional white with black shutters and a big red barn out back. The tall grass waved in the whipping winds. Bucky had imagined a farmhouse-style building, not an actual farm. The acreage spread out all around.

Steve's red SUV sat in the driveway.

A few steps later, the boom of thunder brought a splatter of rain which quickly became a deluge. With a trembling Cheddar in his arms, it seemed pointless to run. He was already soaked through. _So much for combing his hair this morning_.

He trudged down the roadside, trying to protect Cheddar from the rain with his green plaid shirt. _So much for wearing my second-best outfit._

Then he reached Steve's driveway, and his worn shoes clomped up the steps onto Steve's porch. Clutching Cheddar, who licked the rainwater from Bucky's neck, he took several deep breaths.

 _This was a mistake. You shouldn't have come here_.

He pushed the doorbell.

 _I guess I'll find out, won't I?_

11

Long, agonizing minutes passed before he heard movement inside.

 _You still have time to get the fuck out of here. Just run. He'll never know you were here._

The door swung open. Steve's initial pleasant expression turned into something else, punctuated by the little wrinkle between his eyebrows. "Bucky?" Steve looked confused. And shirtless.

Steve wasn't wearing a shirt.

Bucky couldn't even breathe.

Steve could have been a model on some fitness magazine cover. His skin, tan and glistening with sweat, stretched taut over his muscles. After the other night, Bucky had thought Steve's tight t-shirt had left little to the imagination, but faced with Steve's naked torso, he realized he was wrong.

"What are you doing here?" Steve asked, since Bucky hadn't answered.

"I was just passing by." Bucky's teeth were chattering slightly. He hoped Steve didn't notice. "Taking Cheddar for a walk." What had seemed like the perfect excuse back at the animal shelter now sounded like the worst lie ever told.

"Doesn't look like he was doing much walking. Come on in, you're both soaked."

Steve stepped aside and Bucky followed, after wiping his muddy feet on the welcome mat.

"Oh, don't worry about that. This place is a work in progress. Want a tour? Here." Steve opened a door and pulled out a towel. He wrapped Cheddar up and rubbed him before setting him down. Cheddar waddled off with his nose pressed to the floor. "His feet aren't even muddy."

"He's afraid of thunderstorms, I discovered."

"It's really pouring out there now." Bucky had anticipated this meeting to be super awkward. Somehow, Steve made it seem not so weird that Bucky had stopped by for a chat. "Come on, let me show you the house."

In the kitchen, Steve talked about how he had replaced the countertops with granite and stained the cabinets himself and thought the crystal knobs added a nice touch, while Bucky dripped on the floor and admired all the work Steve must have put into it. "All new appliances too. I was partial to the stove that came with the house, it had this real old farmhouse quality to it, you know? But it didn't work, and I like to eat."

Next up, the bathroom, where Bucky avoided looking at his sodden reflection and Steve told horror stories about grouting tile and replacing faucets.

Then they moved into a near empty room with a pile of cut wood beside a rotary saw, and a layer of sawdust coating the floor and an old boombox-style radio. This was clearly where Steve had been working. "The power went out right when the storm started. I think the wiring is real old in this place. Can't work without my saw, or my tunes." He smiled at Bucky.

Bucky, on the other hand, couldn't take it anymore. "Why haven't you come by the shelter?" he demanded. "I was waiting all week. I know it's stupid that I don't have a phone, but you never gave me your number either, so what the fuck was I supposed to do?"

The wrinkle resurfaced between Steve's brows.

"I mean, am I a fucking idiot? Was that not a date we went on? Or maybe Nick was right, you're just not that into me."

When Steve didn't answer, Bucky continued.

"God, I'm so fucking stupid." Bucky blinked furiously, trying not to let the tears leak out of his eyes. "I thought we went on a date. I thought you had a good time too." He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and turned to go. "Sorry I ruined any chance we might still be friends by coming here and acting like a fucking asshole."

"Wait."

He stopped. He couldn't turn around. His humiliation was complete and total.

"I... You said you had a girlfriend," Steve said slowly. "I thought... I thought _you_ didn't think it was a date."

" _Ex_ -girlfriend," Bucky spat out, finally understanding. He spun around. "She's my _ex_ -girlfriend! From high school! What, you always knew you were gay? You never even tried dating girls?"

"Well, yeah..."

"And so what if I have an ex-girlfriend. What does that matter? I'm bi, okay? Is that okay with you? Fuck. I like you. I like you a lot!"

For once, Steve didn't seem to know what say. Bucky suddenly understood: Steve became polite when things got awkward. That was what had happened with the girls at the bar. That explained Steve's sudden shift at the end of their date, when he thought Bucky wasn't interested in him that way. That explained the fucking _Architectural Digest_ tour of the house when Bucky showed up.

Thunder rumbled outside the wide open windows. His voice barely rising above the sound, Steve said, "I like you a lot, too."

Relief crashed over him, and impulsively he stepped forward and grabbed Steve by the back of the neck. As lightning flared, he smashed his lips against Steve's. His own lips felt cracked and rough, and he had a split second where he thought Steve might not reciprocate, but Steve's mouth softened and yielded to him, and they tasted each other for the first time.

Steve tasted like fresh mint and lemonade. He smelled like summer and hard work and lazy afternoons.

Bucky's eyes eased shut so he could feel all the sensations better. The whisper of Steve's eyelashes against his cheek. The sharp scent of his cologne and the salty taste of the sweat on his upper lip. The soft, short hairs on the back of his neck. He kissed Steve like he was sucking down some exotic fruit he'd never tasted before and couldn't get enough of.

It had been years since he had kissed anyone. Even longer since he had kissed a boy. There only been that one boy at military school, more experimental than anything. Nat had bugged him about a threesome constantly after he had told her he was bi, but he had never been interested in the parade of guys she brought around. As his and Steve's tongues probed each other, Bucky realized how different it was to kiss someone the same height. How different it felt when Steve's hands clutched Bucky's hips and pulled their bodies close, so that no space stood between them. How warm Steve's body felt through his wet clothes.

The only imperfect part of all this was the way his bad arm dangled there, too exhausted from carrying Cheddar. He shrugged his shoulder, but his limb just would not cooperate.

Then Steve's fingers circled his wrist, and pulled Bucky's arm up so both of Bucky's hands circled Steve's neck. With his hands on Bucky's waist, Steve's arm held Bucky's arm in place.

Steve eased back from the kiss and looked into Bucky's eyes. "Is that okay?" he whispered.

Bucky could only nod.

Steve smiled. "I'm so happy you dropped by."

12

"Hey-ehh, hey-ehh, whatsa matter with your head yeah..."

After the thunderstorms that had provided a stormy backdrop to what ended up being a three-hour make out session, Friday morning dawned bright and sunny. Bucky had pulled out the ancient Walkman he'd found in Nat's garage last year, the one with "P. Quill" written in Sharpie on the back. Nat always said she was going to have a big yard sale, so Pete had brought over a bunch of boxes of crap. That was two years ago, and since Bucky didn't have an iPod or even a CD player, the hardy Walkman and Pete's mix tapes had served as his music source.

Today, he was grooving to "Awesome Mix, Volume 1."

"'Cause you're fine and you're mine and you look so divine..."

He carried a little red ball in his left hand, and squeezed it in time to the music - part of the physical therapy he hadn't done in far too long. "Come and get your love..." Steve was going to stop by the shelter today, take him out to lunch again.

"Come and get your looooooeaahhhhhhh..."

The tape ground to a slow halt. Bucky stopped and looked at the Walkman. The play button was still pressed down. He pulled out the batteries, put them back in, hit the Walkman against the side of the brick building - nothing. He heard a weird mewling sound and tried turning the volume up, then realized the sound wasn't coming from his headphones.

He peered into the alleyway between the Springfield House of Pizza and the barber shop. There was a dumpster and some rolling trash bins, a pile of cardboard boxes. Bucky stepped forward. Another step. He had almost reached the dumpster before he realized that the sound came from one of the boxes. Bending down, he undid the flaps.

Six kittens in the box. They crawled over each trying to get to him, their cries tiny and pathetic. He reached in a hand and one of them, gray with tiger stripes, bit down on his finger. It didn't hurt. The kittens were too young.

Still kneeling, Bucky looked around. No sign of whoever would have left a box full of kittens in an alley to die. "Bastards," he muttered, returning to the kittens just in time to stop the tiger kitten from escaping. He folded the flaps back down. It took some doing to maneuver the box up onto his knees and tuck it under his good arm.

By the time he got to the shelter, both arms ached.

"Awww," Maria cooed, lifting out a gray and white kitty. "They're so cute!"

"I'm lucky my walkman died or I wouldn't have heard them," Bucky said. His arm ached from carrying the box all the way to the shelter. "Is Sharon here yet?"

"Sharon has the day off," said Nick, strolling into the room. "What do we got?"

"I found them in the alley by the pizza place. Who knows how long they've been there."

Nick nodded. "All right, Barnes. I'll let you take lead on this one. What the first step here?"

Bucky felt a little flame of excitement in his chest. "They're probably dehydrated, so we should give them water?"

"You asking me or telling me?"

"Telling." He got out a small dish and filled it with water, then placed it inside the box. "I mean, they should probably get milk, but water's more important."

"Good. Now what?"

"The basic evaluation. Estimate the age, sex, and physical condition of the animal, then check for signs of disease or injury." Bucky almost couldn't believe he had that memorized. He'd never been good at tests.

Nick and Maria helped him with the six kittens. They had to examine each animal's ears, teeth, and eyes, listen to their heartbeats, then comb through their matted fur. Most of the kittens seemed to be in fairly good shape, except the one black kitten among the other, mostly gray, kittens. This one seemed listless, her green eyes dull. "What do you think is wrong with her?" Bucky asked.

"I was going to ask you," Nick said. "Pretend you're the vet tech on duty; what's your diagnosis?"

Bucky stroked the kitten between its ears. "She might just be the runt of the litter. Maybe whoever dumped them left food, but the others didn't let her eat, so she's more dehydrated than the others."

"Let's finish the intake before we give her anything. What do we do next?" Nick asked.

"Um..." Bucky wasn't sure. "Vaccinations?"

Nick raised an eyebrow. Maria nodded encouragingly.

"Vaccinations," Bucky stated.

Bucky had never given a vaccination before. He had always assumed it was some mysterious process Sharon did, but it turned out the vaccination doses were prepped. Nick showed Bucky how to prime the needle and where to inject it. After watching Nick and Maria vaccinate two of the kittens, he tried it on his own.

It was harder than he had expected. Two hands were needed. Bucky had to hold the needle in his good hand, because that was the part that needed the most control. With his other hand, he had to try to hold the kitten still while pinching the skin and fur around its shoulder. The tiger-striped kitten, the same one who had almost escaped the box, was proving to be a rambunctious little guy. Nick ended up holding the kitten still while Bucky forced his fingers to close around the skin long enough to deliver the shot.

"Thanks," he said. His confidence was spiraling down. Nick could see now exactly how bad Bucky's arm was.

"Try the black one next. She shouldn't give you as much trouble."

It was still difficult, but he managed to give the vaccination on his own, and he felt a little surge of pride.

When everything was done, Nick clapped Bucky on the shoulder. "Nice work, Barnes. Get your ass in a vet tech program and you could be running this place."

Bucky knew it would be years before that ever came to pass, but the compliment felt good. Plus, he remembered as he sat down to give the black kitten some much needed milk, Steve was going to be here soon to take him out for lunch. His lips still felt a bit swollen from yesterday, a pleasant tingling sensation. He closed his eyes and imagined the sharp, clean scent of Steve's cologne.

He was giddy as a puppy when Steve's car pulled in. Of course he had been watching the window all morning and now, as Steve walked in, clearly looking around for Bucky, Bucky had to be firm with himself. "Don't be such a nerd," he muttered as he made it way to the front.

"Hey, your boyfriend's here," Maria sang.

Bucky tried not to blush or smile like a fool, and failed miserably. As he passed Nick, the man who never smiled, he thought he saw the corner of Nick's smile quirk up. Bucky ducked his head and swung into the lobby. Grabbing Steve's arm, he yanked Steve right back out the door. Behind them, Phil called out, "Hey, Steve! Long time no see!"

Bucky ignored him and dragged Steve out to the car. "Walking or driving?" he demanded.

"Well, I thought we might go to the diner." Everyone in Springfield knew the diner. It had been around since the fifties, and it was on the other side of town, so Bucky jumped into Steve's car and snapped on his seatbelt, tapping his foot while Steve seemed to move in slow motion.

Steve finally closed the door, but he didn't start the car. Instead, he looked at Bucky. "Are you embarrassed by me or something?"

At first Bucky couldn't figure out what Steve meant. "No!" Bucky said. "No. I'm sorry. It's not that. I'm just not used to any of this."

 _What was this?_ he wanted to ask. _Are you my boyfriend?_

It felt too soon to ask.

"Any of what?"

Bucky swallowed. "I don't know." _It's too soon for this. You don't want to be the clingy boyfriend, do you?_ His hands flailed. "This. Having someone... interested... in me."

Steve took off his sunglasses, and Bucky's relief surprised him, because he hadn't realized how much Steve covering his eyes made him nervous. Without the sunglasses, Steve's emotions were plain as day. "Bucky," Steve said, impulsively grabbing Bucky's hand - his bad hand - and squeezing, but gently. Like he had remembered. "I don't know if you could tell this about me, but... I'm probably just as inexperienced about all of this as you are. Maybe more."

"You?" Bucky shook his head. "Come on. You're gorgeous. I'm sure you've had a million boyfriends."

Steve's smile held more sadness than Bucky could have imagined. "Nope. I've actually... never had a boyfriend."

Bucky had no idea what to say that that. "But... you're so confident. I mean..."

Steve shrugged, and after stroking the back of Bucky's hand with his thumb, he let go and put the car into reverse. "Appearances can be deceiving," Steve said lightly.

During the short drive, Bucky struggled for a way to redirect the conversation back to what Steve had said. How was it even possible? Soon Steve was doing his tour guide bit again, pointing out his favorite Mexican restaurant, the apartment building where Sam lived, and Bucky couldn't quite figure out a place to ask.

 _This is Steve's defense mechanism. He's feeling vulnerable and awkward_. Bucky decided he would play along and try to make Steve feel more comfortable.

"How did your job interview go?" Bucky asked after they had settled into a cushy booth by the windows. Steve had mentioned the interview yesterday after he had dropped Bucky and Cheddar off at the shelter. There hadn't been enough time to get any details, and Bucky had been too overwhelmed to do much more than stare at Steve's lips as he spoke.

"Great. Really great. I have a good feeling about this."

"What kind of job is it?"

The waitress came then, and they ordered drinks.

"It's a consultant position for a military technology company."

Bucky stopped breathing.

"I don't have the specific experience they require, but they seemed really interested in my military background. One of the interviewers seemed a little... I don't know, probably typical human resources. All straight-laced. But the other interviewer was really cool and he basically told me afterwards that I had the job. Pretty good, huh?"

"Yeah," Bucky said faintly. He felt like he had been hit by a car.

 _You need to tell him._

 _No._

The waitress returned with their drinks and asked if they were ready to order.

"I'll have the bacon double cheeseburger," Steve said.

Bucky hadn't even looked at the menu. "Same," he said. He didn't feel like eating anymore.

"I'm still waiting on the official call, though," Steve continued when the waitress left. "Don't want to get my hopes up too much. I mean, this is only the second job interview I've gone on since I left the army. I probably should have had more of a plan before buying a house."

 _You need to tell him. Your fucking stepfather runs that company. You know it's your stepfather's company._

 _Maybe Steve won't ever meet him. He's the president of the company. Probably doesn't even come out of his office most days._

 _Maybe it isn't even your stepfather's company._

"What's the name of the company?" Bucky tried not to sound like he was choking.

"Um, it's Hydra... Hydraulics... Hydraulic Tech... nology?"

"Hydraulic Technology Conglomerates?" Bucky asked.

Steve raised his eyebrows. "You've heard of it?"

"It's a pretty big company," Bucky said, fiddling with his straw wrapper. "So, you were saying before how you were a virgin?"

Steve laughed so loudly some of the other diners turned to look. "I wouldn't go that far," he said.

"So, mostly hook-ups, then?"

"The army doesn't leave time for a real relationship. And I didn't feel comfortable dating another soldier. Kind of like dating a coworker, you know?"

Under the table, Steve's foot kicked into Bucky's as Steve shifted his weight.

"What are you? I mean, you said you're not used to being in a relationship, but..."

Bucky pressed his boot against Steve's sneaker. "There was one kid back when I was thirteen. Just fooling around, you know? That was back when... I, um, I went to Truman Military Academy in middle school."

"I take it you were a troublemaker, getting sent to military school." Steve put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, biting his lip as if the idea of Bucky as a troublemaker turned him on.

"Yeah," Bucky said, because it was easier, and because Steve's knee now pressed against his. "It was an all-boys school, so... I fooled around. But for high school I went to Springfield Public, and it seemed like the girls were more interested in me. Natasha was the only girl I dated for more than a few weeks. Then..."

Bucky couldn't think how to explain the next part. He didn't have to.

"Then the accident," Steve said.

Bucky nodded.

Steve reached under the table and put his hand on Bucky's knee, squeezed. His thumb made slow circles that both comforted Bucky and made him feel more than a little aroused. "So... um... by not quite a virgin," Bucky said, shredding his straw wrapper, "what exactly do you mean?" He gave Steve a sly smile.

After that conversation, Bucky wasn't sure how he was going to get any work done in the afternoon. Steve had brought up going to karaoke again, and they had made plans for Steve to pick Bucky up at home. Even though only four hours or so separated them from the next time they would see each other, Steve followed Bucky into the shelter.

 _Does he want me to kiss him good-bye?_ Bucky fretted. _I might have kissed him in the car._ He looked around at all of the windows. He and Steve might as well have been on a stage for all the privacy they had. Bucky leaned against the counter, both wishing Steve would leave already and wishing he would stay the whole afternoon.

But Steve did not leave. He reached up and tugged a lock of hair behind Bucky's ear. Didn't tuck it behind his ear, just pulled on it a little. "Wear that gray sweater again," Steve said.

"Why?" Bucky blurted out. His mind raced with the idea that maybe Steve didn't like the way he normally dressed - _like a homeless person -_

Steve leaned in and whispered, "Because I want to peel it off of you later."

He sucked in a breath and pressed his hips into the counter to hide his sudden hard-on. _What am I, thirteen years old again?_ By the time he got himself under control and looked up, Steve was backing out the door, a smirk on his face.

13

Bucky paced by the large picture window in the living room.

"So you're really not going to let me meet your boyfriend?" Natasha asked.

He glanced at her. She was wearing tight black leather pants and an off-the-shoulder black sequined t-shirt. "No."

"Don't look at me like that. You said he's not bi, so what's the big deal?" She batted her falsely-lashed eyes, rimmed in thick black liner. "You afraid I'll turn him straight?"

"No," said Bucky with a sigh, glancing out the window again. Then he turned back to Nat. "Where are you and Bruce going tonight?"

She tossed her red curls. "Pete's band is playing over in Exeter. You know Bruce is super thrilled about that."

"It's not that I don't like Pete," Bruce said, emerging from the bedroom wearing jeans and a faded black t-shirt. "It's that I like good music."

Natasha made a face. "That's what you're wearing?"

Bruce looked down. "What's wrong with this?"

"It's fine," Nat said, sounding like it was anything but fine. Bucky knew an argument brewing when he heard one. He looked out the window, hoping to see Steve's car.

"What? What do you want?" Bruce gestured at Bucky. "Do you want me to dress like him?"

"I'm going to go wait outside," Bucky said.

Suddenly Bruce was in his face. "No, stay!" Bruce's sarcasm filled the room. "Please. You live here. Who am I to chase you out of your own house? You have more right to be here than I do. So stay! Just fucking stay."

The veins in Bruce's neck bulged and throbbed. Bucky took in a deep breath _. Don't start with him. Don't fight back. You know that never works._ He kept his gaze down, at Bruce's heaving chest. _Like working with an aggressive dog. Don't make eye contact, but don't turn your back, either._

Through the screen door, Bucky heard a car door shut and footsteps on the porch. _Fuck._

"Bruce, babe, come on," Nat said quietly, her hand moving up the clenched muscles of Bruce's arm. "Let's have a good night, okay? You know that isn't what I meant at all. Come on." She tugged at Bruce. He stood like a boulder. Natasha stroked his arm again. "I'll show you exactly what I want you to wear," she purred.

"I'll tell you one thing," Bruce growled, sticking a finger in Bucky's face. Bucky flinched but didn't back down. "It's high time you got your shit together. When I move in here, you're out."

"Stop it, Bruce," Natasha snapped. She yanked on his arm, hard. "Come on. Leave him alone."

The door behind Bruce opened just as Bruce jerked his arm out of Natasha's grasp. She stumbled on her spike heel boots and fell.

Bucky barely had time to back up out of the way before Bruce was crashing through the coffee table with Steve on his back. The flimsy particle board construction collapsed under the weight of the two grown men. It took Steve mere seconds to pull Bruce's arm behind his back and pin the man with an elbow to the neck and a knee to the back.

"Get the fuck off me!" Bruce snarled, struggling under Steve's weight.

Natasha extracted her legs from under Bruce's and got to her feet, shaking.

Bucky wanted to help her up. He wished he'd been fast enough to throw himself between Bruce and Natasha. He wanted to help Steve now, even though it seemed Bruce was already calming down some.

All he could do was stand there, back pressed against the wall, and shake.

"Hey, um, Steve? It's okay. I'm fine. I mean, I just lost my balance," Natasha said, edging around Bruce's legs.

Steve looked up. "I don't think there's anything fine about a grown man pushing around a woman."

Bruce yowled something incoherent that might have been "Fuck you!"

Steve's response was to dig his elbow into Bruce's neck.

"I'm not even hurt," Nat said. Kneeling beside Bruce's head, she stroked his hair and said in a low voice, "Bruce, all you have to do is calm down a little and Steve will let you up, okay? Just relax."

Steve craned his neck to look over at Bucky. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Bucky couldn't look up from the floor. He nodded, even though he felt everything but okay.

The trembling had seized his entire body. Blinking hard, he tried not to cry. Why was he crying? He wasn't the one who got pushed. He squeezed his eyes shut and heard another voice.

 _"One more fuck up, and you're out."_

Buzzing filled his ears.

 _Face slamming into the wall so hard the plaster dented. A growl in his ear, "This is my house. My rules."_

He curled his fingers into his hair, pulled hard, shook his head. _Don't want to remember. Not now. Not ever._

"Bucky?" Steve's touch on his shoulder was feather-light, and his voice low. "It's okay, Buck. It's all over."

Bucky drew in a ragged breath. He forced himself to choke out the words. "I just... I just remembered..."

Then Steve's arms wrapped around him, crushing Bucky to his chest.

They stood like that for a long time. Bucky didn't know how long before the buzzing went away, just that eventually he became less overwhelmed by emotions and more aware of how wet the fabric beneath his cheek was, how he could hear Steve's heartbeat, how his neck was cramping from the way it was smashed up against Steve's chest, how the back of the t-shirt he wore under his sweater was damp too, from sweat. He peeled his face away and said thickly, "Sorry about your shirt."

"It's fine." Steve gave Bucky's back a vigorous rub then pulled away. "Are you okay?"

Bucky nodded and wiped his face on his sleeve. Natasha and Bruce must have gone into Nat's bedroom to talk. "Sorry."

"I'm the one who should be sorry," Steve said, looking back at the destroyed coffee table. "I should help clean this up."

Even though Bucky just wanted to get the hell out of there, he got out a Hefty bag and together he and Steve loaded up the shards of wood, then left it out front by the mailbox for whenever trash day was.

"I might have a clean shirt upstairs you could change into," Bucky said as they got into the car.

"This one will be fine. It's already drying, see?"

"Okay." Bucky rubbed his eyes again. He was sure they were red and his face was all splotchy.

Suddenly Steve's hand pressed against Bucky's cheek, turning his face. Steve's fingers traced Bucky's jaw line. With a smile, Steve said, "You shaved. Was that for me?"

Bucky blushed. "Yeah."

Gently, Steve pressed his lips to Bucky's. "If you don't want to go out tonight, I understand."

The alternative, sitting by himself in a tension-filled house, listening to Bruce and Natasha fight, didn't appeal to him. At all. "I want to go out," he said. "I need to be someplace loud. Someplace fun." His smile wobbled a bit, but it held.

"All right." Steve stole another kiss before shifting the car into gear. "Let's do this."

14

Bucky had been more than a little nervous about meeting Steve's friend Sam. He wanted to make a good impression, and he was sure Sam would take one look at his red-rimmed eyes and wrinkled gray sweater and tell Steve he was dating a total loser.

Luckily, Sam was already halfway drunk by the time they showed up at Clark's.

The off-key crooning of the karaoke crowd made conversation nearly impossible, and that was okay too. Bucky didn't feel much like talking about his feelings. He wanted to forget he had feelings. He drank way too much - Steve kept sliding drinks in front of him - and when a good song came on, he sang along. The night spun out in a blur of lights and Steve's hand on his knee, around his shoulders, mussing his hair, all of which made Bucky laugh and duck his head. He wasn't sure if Sam knew Steve was gay. Sam didn't seem to notice or care, except for shouting over some terrible country song, "Steve told me all about you!"

Sam had brought friends, too, whose names Bucky didn't remember. Steve leaned in and yelled that he didn't know most of Sam's friends, most of them were from the support group he ran. Bucky didn't catch what kind of support group it was, but it was clearly not Alcoholics Anonymous.

Towards the end of the night, Bucky found himself sitting quietly amidst the chaos. Sam had convinced Steve to get up and dance, and Bucky had waved him off. He didn't know if he could stand up at the moment. Everything - the lights, the pounding music, the pleasant wash of alcohol in his bloodstream - conspired to overwhelm him. The next thing he knew, Steve was up front with the microphone. Sam collapsed into the chair beside Bucky. "This oughta be good," Sam said. "I've been trying for _months_ to get him out to karaoke. You know what he says? 'I can't sing,' he says."

Already, Steve had groupies, girls who had been watching him all night. Then the music started, and Bucky started laughing. Steve's song choice?

"(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman."

As Steve also sang his own back up vocals, and struggled to match Aretha's vocal range, Bucky and Sam collapsed in gales of laughter. Steve was ridiculous and adorable and obnoxiously drunk all at the same time. After slurring the final notes in a tuneless falsetto, Steve left the stage to cheers and applause. Bucky grinned watching Steve head back to him. _He's mine_. He hugged himself. _All mine._

Suddenly, it seemed, it was two a.m.: they had shut down the bar. Bucky and Steve staggered onto the sidewalk. Sam and his crew were heading to someone's house, but Steve slung his arm around Bucky's shoulders and steered him away, calling out good-byes. "You don't want to go with them?" Bucky asked. "I don't mind."

Steve tugged on Bucky's hair, reminding him of earlier in the afternoon. "I told you before what I want to do tonight."

Once in the car, however, Bucky asked, "Are you sure you're okay to drive?"

"No," Steve said, staring at the steering wheel. "You?"

Bucky hadn't driven a car in a very long time. "No."

"Only one thing to do, then," Steve said. He started to lean over, then stopped, and pushed up the armrest. Drunk Steve pushed Bucky back against the door. Bucky's head bumped the window, and Steve's teeth clacked against Bucky's. His kiss was wet and sloppy and Steve's knee pressed into Bucky's thigh almost painfully.

Laughing, Bucky pushed Steve away so he could better situate himself, then he went for Steve's neck. He had always liked necking, there were so many options. He could travel up and nibble on Steve's earlobe, he could head south and plant his lips on Steve's Adam's apple. Steve panted in Bucky's ear and combed his fingers through Bucky's hair and grabbed the belt loops of Bucky's jeans and pulled his hips closer, only that made Bucky's underwear ride up and feel even tighter than it already did.

Bucky could nuzzle Steve's neck forever, at this rate.

Steve's fingers began slipping under the waistband of Bucky's jeans. At first it was over Bucky's cotton boxer briefs. Bucky inhaled sharply the first time Steve's hands dipped down and grabbed Bucky's ass through his underwear. After a while, Steve's hot palms felt comfortable, like Steve had always had access to his ass. Then Steve started playing again, now sliding his fingers under the waistband, running them along the width.

Breathing hard, Bucky finally moved his attentions back up to Steve's face. He kissed the corner of Steve's mouth. Steve kissed the cleft in Bucky's chin. He kissed the tip of Steve's nose. Steve pressed his lips against the skin under Bucky's left eye.

Bucky gazed into Steve's eyes. Steve blinked those long lashes slowly, and smiled, and moved his fingers up out of Bucky's pants. His fingertips trailed lightly on the newly exposed skin on Bucky's back as he pulled up Bucky's sweater.

At this first sign, Bucky felt a little twinge of anxiety. He wanted Steve to rip his shirt off. He wanted to rip Steve's shirt off. He wanted them to be bared to each other.

But he also wanted that to happen someplace other than a car parked on busy Main Street. And he wasn't sure he was ready for Steve to see his scars yet.

But Steve's fingers on his back...

He reached back and tugged down his t-shirt, a move that made him think of those times he tried to make a move on a girl. It was always a dance with them. He'd move his hand here, and she would push it away. He'd try someplace else, and she'd let it stay, until he moved it and she was on the defensive again. _Sorry_ , he wanted to say to Steve. Instead he tugged on Steve's lip with his teeth, and moved his arms to help Steve take the sweater off.

In that moment after Bucky's arms were free but his head was still stuck in the neck hole, Steve kissed him. The sweater made a hot little pocket of privacy. Bucky breathed in the scent of damp wool and Steve's cologne for a moment before he pulled himself free.

"Your hair," Steve laughed, and pushed it back from Bucky's face before kissing him again.

At some point later, they came up for air. That was when Steve said, "Spend the night with me."

Bucky wanted to. At least, his throbbing dick wanted to. He looked at his arm, resting on Steve's shoulder. _Steve has seen the scars now, just go. Do it._

 _He hasn't seen_ all _the scars._

"Please," Steve begged. He rubbed his nose against Bucky's neck and then kissed the spot. Then licked it.

 _Do you really want to go back home? Sleep by yourself in that hotbed of anger?_

He trembled as Steve slipped his hand into his pants again.

"I like you a lot," Bucky said.

Steve squeezed his ass, and Bucky had to bite his lip. "But?"

Bucky didn't answer.

"You... want to take it slow?" Steve slid his hands up to Bucky's hips. "That's okay. I mean, obviously I want to take you back to my place and never let you leave, but yeah, we should probably slow down... since I've never really been in a relationship."

"I just don't want to fuck this up," Bucky blurted out. "Everything else in my life is fucked up and I want this to be different, you know?"

Steve tucked Bucky's hair behind his ear and kissed him, long and slow. "I know," he whispered.

But when Steve pulled into Nat's driveway, and Bucky looked at the dark windows of the house, he wondered if he had made the right choice.

15

In the middle of the night, he woke to Nat's voice saying, "Move over."

He knew this scenario too well, and his head was already pounding from the inevitable hangover. "Come on, Nat. You know I'm dating Steve now."

"Jerk, I don't want to have sex with you." She punched him lightly, but he could hear the thickness in her voice. He rolled over and she slid between the sheets, curling up against his chest. She smelled like vodka and skunk, which meant she'd been smoking. And drinking. Nat was serious about her vodka.

"God, your feet are freezing," Bucky whispered into her hair.

In response, she rubbed her ice-cold foot up and down his leg. He kicked a little and she stopped.

After a short period of silence, he asked, "Is Bruce mad at you?"

"Yeah." Her voice was like the pitiful mewling of a cat. Then she was crying, hard.

He knew better than to try to tell her everything would be okay. In place of words, he rubbed her back and held her tight against him and let her cry.

"He left me," she sobbed. "He just packed up his stuff and left. I told him it was an accident, he didn't hurt me or anything. I didn't blame him. It was all a misunderstanding, you know? You know Bruce would never hurt me, right?"

Bucky stroked her hair and made an affirmative-sounding noise, even though he had never like Bruce's hair-trigger temper. Anger like that could spiral into violence in the space of a blink.

"Why do I always date such assholes?" Nat moaned. Bucky cleared his throat, leading Nat to giggle. "Sorry." She burrowed her face against his chest and sniffled. "I do, though. You can't deny it."

Bucky sighed, resting his chin on the top of her head. "No."

He thought about what he'd been like before, when he and Nat were dating. He'd been a different person then. Arrogant. Totally willing to hook up with all the girls who came onto him. There were a lot. They told him he was hot, and he had agreed. He knew part of it was the money, too. He had a cherry red convertible handed to him on his sixteenth birthday. But Nat had something different from the moment he laid eyes on her. She knew exactly how to string a guy along. Back then, Bucky thought he'd been in love with her.

And since then, especially since Nat told Bucky he could crash at her place until he got back on his feet, he had watched guys come and go, and in between, Natasha would use him for comfort. He didn't mind. No one else wanted him, it seemed, now that he was damaged goods.

As he drifted off to sleep, he wished he had gone home with Steve. No - he wished he had wanted to go home with Steve. Steve's interest was still so new and unexpected that Bucky didn't know how to react. It came down to not understanding why Steve was even attracted to him. Bucky didn't look the way he did in high school. His confidence had deserted him. Wasn't that what people said was attractive? Confidence? It was certainly what had attracted him to Steve. Good looks and confidence, and that old memory of Steve defending him. But what did Steve see in him?

The next day was a quiet one. Bucky and Natasha both slept in past noon, and disentangling their limbs felt awkward. Inexplicably, Bucky felt like he had somehow cheated on Steve by letting Nat sleep in his bed. _We're just friends,_ he told himself, chasing his pills with black coffee. _That's what friends do._

He could have called Steve from Nat's phone - Steve had given him his cell number on Thursday when dropping Bucky off at the shelter. But he was so hungover he didn't feel like it. Instead, he read a little, napped a little, and around dinner time, wandered out of his room to sprawl on the couch with Nat and watch a marathon of some inane reality show neither of them had ever seen before. By the end of hour three, both of them were fully invested.

"Pizza?" Nat asked during a commercial break.

"Pizza," Bucky agreed.

Clint stopped by about two seconds after the pizza delivery guy had gone. "Were you just waiting out there to see what kind of take out I ordered?" Nat demanded.

"I was hoping it wasn't Chinese." He snatched a slice and shoved about half of it into his mouth. "Umph. Hot."

Bucky hadn't felt so relaxed around Nat and Clint since Bruce had started coming around. He got the feeling Clint felt the same way. Clint always seemed to stop by when Bruce was out.

"Hey, anyone come in to claim Lucky?" Clint asked through a full mouth.

"Nope. Nick told me if you wanted him, you could take him home. No adoption fees or anything."

"Sweet." Clint stood up.

"The shelter isn't open right now," Bucky said, confused.

"You work there. Don't you have a key?"

"Yeah. So?" Bucky wiped the pizza grease from his fingers onto his jeans.

"So...?"

"I'll get fired," Bucky protested.

"Fine." Clint threw himself back down in the armchair. "I'll go tomorrow."

"Do you even have the stuff to take care of a dog?" Natasha asked. "Look at you. You can barely take care of yourself."

Clint looked down at himself. "What? I'm wearing pants."

Nat rolled her eyes. "You need dog food. A leash. Maybe a dog bed."

"Why can't he just eat pizza and sleep on my bed?"

This necessitated a trip to Petco. Bucky wasn't sure he wanted to go, but Nat insisted. "We need your expertise."

Clint ended up dropping over a hundred dollars at the pet store, and then they headed over to Clint's apartment to prepare it for an animal. This involved throwing away a lot of empty pizza boxes and take out food containers and cleaning up some broken glass. "I don't know how that got there," Clint said.

"Does your landlord allow dogs?" Bucky asked hesitantly.

"My landlord's a thug," Clint said. "He can kiss my ass."

Bucky wished he could have a dog. He hadn't even brought up the subject to Natasha. Maybe, without Bruce around, she'd be okay with it. It wasn't like her house was sparkling clean or anything. She had inherited the place from an aunt she always described as "crazy." A crazy aunt with a mortgage-free house didn't sound so crazy to him.

"Clint's lucky," Bucky said on the ride home, the streetlights flashing overhead.

"What are you talking about? He lives in the ghetto," Natasha said. "Didn't you hear the baby crying next door? The entire time we were in there? I'd go insane."

"I meant about the dog. I'd love to have a dog." He peeked over to get a read on Natasha's face.

She wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. Dogs. All that slobber. I think I'm more of a cat person. They can kind of take care of themselves, you know?"

Disappointed, Bucky looked out the window. "Yeah."

He wondered what Steve was doing tonight.

16

Sunday morning. Bucky had woken early for no good reason. Now he sat on the counter and stared at the phone on the wall.

 _How early is too early to call? Is 8:30 too early? Should I wait until after nine? Steve seems like an early riser, but I don't know what he did last night. Maybe he went out again and didn't get to bed until after midnight._

He was still staring at the phone when Nat came down the stairs, yawning. "Hey, you're up," she said. She shuffled past him. The ties on her robe trailed on the floor. After standing in front of the open refrigerator door for a minute, she asked, "Wanna go out for breakfast?"

"Ummm..." Bucky glanced at the phone again.

Nat slapped his arm. "Oh. My. God. You are such a lovelorn bastard! Fine. Call your man. Go have a nice romantic brunch. I'll just have some... Ugh, this bagel has mold on it. Do you think these eggs are still good?"

"You could come, too," Bucky said. "I mean, you haven't really met Steve except while he was body slamming your boyfriend."

"Let's not talk about that," Nat said shortly. Then, peeking around the fridge door, "You'd really be okay with me tagging along?"

"Sure. I mean, if Steve doesn't mind. If he even wants to have breakfast."

"What are you waiting for? Call him."

Bucky glanced at the digital clock on the microwave. "You think it's too early?"

"If _I'm_ up, it's not too early."

"Okay." Bucky hopped off the counter and grabbed the cordless phone, dialing Steve's number, which he had memorized, as he walked into the living room.

Behind him, he heard Nat sing, "Ooh, someone needs privacy!"

The two rings before Steve picked up were the longest in his life. "Hey," Steve answered, his voice warm. Of course Steve knew who it was, he had watched Steve program Nat's number with his name.

"Hi," Bucky said. He had forgotten that little thrill of hearing the voice of someone he liked over the phone for the first time.

"What's up?"

"I was just wondering, you know, if you wanted to go out to breakfast with me? Me and Nat. If you're not busy?"

"Sounds great! What time do you want to meet? Do you want me to pick you guys up?"

"Sure," Bucky said, turning to glance into the kitchen. He jumped. Nat was leaning in the doorway.

"Tell him we want to go to the Bistro," she whispered loudly.

Bucky sighed. "Nat wants to go to the Bistro," he told Steve.

"Cool. I love that place. Okay-see you in five."

"Five minutes? It only takes you five minutes to get from your place to here?"

"No... I was already on my way over."

Bucky ducked his head and smiled. "Okay. I'll see you soon."

As soon as he pushed the button to end the call, Nat started making kissy noises. "See you soon, pooky!" she squeaked. "Look at you - your face matches my hair."

"Stop," Bucky said, laughing a little.

"I don't know if I should be doing this," Nat said. "Going out with the two of you lovebirds. Ugh." She pulled her hair into her face. "I'm in a love-hating mood, I will warn you right now."

"Well, you'd better get dressed. He's on his way."

"What?" Nat looked down at her short shorts and droopy tank top. "Ugh. I'm just going to wear this. Especially if you're wearing _that_."

Bucky was wearing his usual ripped jeans and flannel shirt. "What?"

"Come on." She grabbed his hand and started dragging him upstairs. "You have to put a little effort into it. And it's supposed to be in the eighties today. You're going to die of heatstroke."

"I need something to cover-"

"I know why you're wearing it." Nat marched into Bucky's room and started going through the piles of clothes on the floor. Bucky tried to explain to her his system of clean and dirty piles but gave up when she shoved a pair of cargo shorts and a white shirt at him. "You have an undershirt? Like a tank top? I hate calling them wife beaters, but you know what I'm talking about, right?"

Bucky did.

"I'm going to go change, you change, and we'll see if that shirt needs an iron."

Bucky stripped off his flannel and the t-shirt under it, realizing how hot it already was. Then he tugged on the sleeveless undershirt and buttoned the white shirt over it. Yeah, an iron was definitely needed. Nat already had the iron heating up in her bedroom, and she shimmied into her jeans as he carefully pressed out the wrinkles.

"Your scars aren't that bad anymore, you know," Nat said behind him.

He looked at his arm. Even if the scars weren't bad, his bad arm was pale and noticeably smaller than his good arm. He shrugged just as the doorbell rang.

"Shit. I'm not done," he said.

"I'll let him in. Don't panic."

Downstairs he heard the door opening and Nat saying, "Well if it isn't the boyfriend tackler. Nice to meet you under better circumstances."

Bucky cringed. He strained to hear Steve's reaction, but Steve's low voice didn't carry as well. Nat invited him to sit down, and added, "I'd tell you to put your feet up, but we're down a coffee table."

"I am so sorry about that." Bucky could hear Steve now. "I'll replace it." Bucky whipped the iron over the shirt. _Leave him alone, Nat._

"Don't worry about it. Just give us girls a minute to finish getting ready."

Nat ran up the stairs to get started on her make up. Once Bucky had finished ironing and shrugged on the shirt, he stood in the bathroom door and asked, "Does this look okay?"

"Much better than this morning. Now brush your teeth and wash the crust out of your eyes." Nat squinted into the mirror. "Fuck eyeliner. I'm just gonna wear my sunglasses."

Bucky ran downstairs while Nat put on her shoes so he could say hello to Steve in some semblance of privacy. He stumbled on the last step.

Steve was wearing yet another skin-tight t-shirt, heather gray this time. It stretched taut across his wide lats as Steve stood with his back to the stairs, looking at the photographs on the fireplace mantel. Bucky's gaze traveled from the shoulders that wouldn't have seemed out of place on a football linebacker, to Steve's narrow waist and tight ass. He sighed, and Steve turned around.

"Hey," Steve said. He gestured to the photos. "You're not in any of these."

"Yes I am." Bucky crossed the room to stand shoulder to shoulder with Steve. He pointed to a large group photo. "There I am."

Steve squinted. "You're not even facing the camera!"

"I... don't really like having my picture taken," Bucky said.

Steve leaned over and kissed Bucky, mostly on the lips. "Why not? You're so cute."

"Oh, God. Please tell me you guys aren't going to be doing this the whole time." Natasha clomped down the stairs, her sunglasses already in place.

Bucky stepped away from Steve a little, though he couldn't stop himself from smiling. "Sorry." He turned and told Steve quietly, "Nat and Bruce broke up, so she's a little sensitive."

"I'm right here," Nat said. She yanked open the door and gestured for the boys to leave. "And we didn't break up, exactly."

Stepping onto the porch, Bucky felt the early morning heat hit him like a wall. "Ugh. Humid." He immediately began scraping his hair up off his neck. He felt Steve's fingers rub the newly exposed skin. Bucky gave a little laugh.

"So what did happen?" Steve asked Natasha.

"He just left. No explanation. Completely refused to talk to me." They got into the car, Steve and Bucky in front and Nat in the back. Steve immediately cranked the A/C. "I keep trying to call him but he doesn't answer."

Bucky swung around in his seat - after he'd put on his seatbelt, of course. "And how many times did you call him?"

"Only five," Nat snapped. Then she looked out the window and muttered, "And I drunk-texted him a bunch of times Friday night."

"Ah, the ever-powerful drunk text," Steve said.

Bucky decided it was high time to change the subject. "What did you do yesterday?" he asked Steve.

"Woke up with the worst hangover of my life," Steve laughed. "Did I really get up and sing Aretha Franklin, or was that a terrible nightmare?"

Nat remained quiet as they arrived at Bistro and were seated at one of the outdoor tables. Steve cheerily discussed how he had spent most of the day recovering and doing work around the house that didn't involve sawing or hammering.

Then the subject of Steve's potential new job came up. Steve once again stumbled over the name of the company and looked to Bucky to say it. Nat arched an eyebrow before Steve turned back to her and her face morphed into one of casual interest. "Yeah, so I'm cautiously optimistic. The job market is tough."

"It certainly is." Bucky held his breath, hoping she wouldn't say anything. She didn't.

"What do you do?" Steve asked her.

"Got a job managing the record store down on Bridge Street. Pay's not great, but I don't really have to deal with anyone except the losers who work there and the hipsters who come in. That's how I met Bruce, actually. The one non-hipster I've ever seen in the place. Ugh. Next topic."

Eventually there came a lull in the conversation, which Nat filled by asking Steve, "Do you want to go to the animal shelter with us after this? My friend Clint is going to adopt a dog."

Steve looked at Bucky. "You're going?"

"I guess, yeah." He would have rather dropped Nat off with Clint and then spent the rest of the day with Steve, but it wouldn't be so bad if Steve came along.

"I'm in," Steve said.

Nat texted Clint when they finished breakfast, and they all drove over to the shelter to meet him there. Naturally, Clint was not there when they arrived. "I'm sure he'll be here in an hour or so," Nat said. She bumped Bucky with her elbow. "You know, I've never been inside here. Give me a tour."

Bucky didn't usually work on Sundays, and he didn't know most of the weekend staff very well. Weekends were busy with volunteers and lots of visiting families, so Bucky took Steve and Nat into the infirmary first. "These are the kittens I found on Friday," Bucky said to Steve.

The kittens had all been placed into the same cage, lined with an old blanket. Most of the kittens pawed through the grate when Bucky stuck his fingers through. The little black cat's eyes were open and alert, but she remained lying down.

"They're so tiny," Steve said.

"Mmm," said Nat, looking around. "I don't really think I'm a cat person."

Bucky glanced over at her. She still had the sunglasses on and was staring through the windows at a couple holding hands, looking at the cats in the kennel area. He lifted the latch of the cage and picked up the little black kitten.

"No? You're not a cat person?" Bucky held the kitten out to her. Nat turned and looked down with disgust on her face. "No?" He raised it up so its eyes were level with Nat's. "No?"

Nat sighed. "It's cute, okay? Is that what you want me to say?"

Bucky pushed the cat toward her. The kitten mewed and reached out a paw. "Look, she likes you." Nat's hands came up automatically to push it away, and then Bucky let go and she was holding the kitten to her chest. Steve laughed softly.

"Come on," Nat said. Like I need a black cat in my life right now." She stroked its little head and said something in Russian.

"What was that?" Bucky asked, holding a hand to his ear.

" _Liho_. It means 'bad luck' in Russian," she snapped at him. She pouted her lips at the cat. "Liho," she cooed.

17

By the time Bucky headed into work Monday afternoon, he'd already had a trying day. Lugging his laundry downtown to the laundromat was normally a chore, and the rising temperature made it worse. Then he had gone to refill his prescriptions at the pharmacy, where they told him his insurance had expired. The copays alone had cost more than he could afford, and with trepidation he asked how much they would cost without insurance. The answer left him speechless for several moments. "Thanks," he had said, and beat it out of there without any of his pills.

 _Fuck. What am I going to do?_

The expired health insurance pissed him off. Each year he had received a new card in the mail, no explanation, no questions asked. Bucky had thought of this as the one decent thing his stepfather had ever done, and it boiled down to his stepfather doing nothing - not calling to take him off the family's health insurance plan. Now, clearly, his stepfather had decided it was time to fully cut Bucky off.

 _Fucking asshole._

He only worked part-time at the shelter - not enough hours to require them to cover his health insurance. And his salary certainly wouldn't pay for his medication out of pocket, or even to pay for private health insurance.

There seemed to be only one solution: get another job.

Between loads of laundry, Bucky wandered the streets of Springfield, looking for "Help Wanted" signs. He filled out an application at a convenience store and a gas station. He'd worked at places like that before, and it sucked, but it was a paycheck. He didn't bother with any of the fast food places even though they were always hiring: food prep usually required two hands.

The worry had begun to gnaw at his belly, but he didn't want to take any of the pills he had left. He needed to ration those. His head pulsed; the heat always gave him a headache.

He just wanted to do his job, keep his head down, not deal with anyone. Steve had said he would try to stop by. He focused on that as Nick told him a couple of new dogs that had arrived yesterday had fleas. This meant all the animals needed flea baths before the two new dogs could join them. The day staff stayed late to help, and Bucky didn't get his quiet time. At least he got a few moments with Cheddar, who loved baths. And lots of cold water flying around felt good in the hot, humid night.

As he locked up, all he could think about was how Steve hadn't stopped by. He'd been counting on Steve's visit to brighten his day. He hoped nothing was wrong. Everything was fine yesterday, better than fine. Steve seemed to enjoy hanging out with Nat and Clint, although he had stolen Bucky away for dinner, take-out from the clam shack they ate in the back of Steve's car, the trunk door lifted up and their legs dangling out the back. This way they had a little privacy, although they didn't do much making out until Steve dropped Bucky off at home and then it was a good long time they parked in the driveway with the lights off and classic rock playing on the radio.

He tried not to let it bother him as he let himself into the house and shuffled up to his room. He almost didn't see the note taped to his door, in Nat's cramped handwriting: "S. called, can't stop by tonight, call when you get home."

Bucky dumped his backpack, tore the note off the door and headed downstairs. Nat's door was closed, the light off. He would have to be quiet.

Picking up the phone, he dialed Steve's number and flopped onto the couch.

 _Riiiiing. Riiiiing._ The ringing went on forever, then the voicemail picked up.

"This is Steve, leave a message."

Bucky sighed. As the voicemail instructions rambled on, he considered not leaving a message.

 _Beeeeep._

"Hi, Steve," Bucky whispered. "It's Bucky. I mean, you probably know that already. Um, Nat left me a note that said you called, so I'm calling you back..."

That sounded lame. Like he was only returning a call.

"I, uh... I missed you today. Yeah. So. You probably shouldn't call me back tonight, I guess, because Nat's sleeping, but... I'll be working at the shelter tomorrow morning and you can call me there. Maybe we can grab some dinner together or something..." He laughed a little. "I guess this message is pretty long, so... anyway. Have a good night. Okay. Bye."

He hung up. Even though he'd said in his message that Steve shouldn't call him back, he lay there for a long time wishing the phone would ring.

18

It was a Bad Day.

Not a bad day like yesterday was a bad day. A Bad Day. The kind that made days like yesterday seem like good days.

A splitting headache woke him up. It started at the base of his skull and wrapped around his whole head like a vice. Blackness crowded the edges of his vision, while the light from the window stabbed his eyes. The pain gathered in his shoulder and extended down his arm and into his fingertips.

It was all he could do to stagger out of bed, yank his curtain shut, grab a couple of ice packs out of his mini fridge, and fall back onto his mattress. Then he reached for the orange bottles on the crate beside him. It took a minute to realize he had knocked the bottles over and spilled pills all over the floor. He felt for them, snatched up a handful, and chewed them dry. His stomach roiled in protest.

One ice pack over his eyes and forehead, the other behind his neck. The cold provided enough relief that he could drift in and out of sleep.

Each time he woke, he groaned at how hot his room was. But he couldn't move the curtain. He couldn't even get out of bed to open the window. Every movement caused agony. There was nothing to do but lay there in his underwear and sweat underneath a rapidly melting ice pack.

The knock on the door pounded through his head. He had no idea what time it was; he didn't want to move the ice pack to look. "James?"

Natasha's voice.

"What do you want?" he barked as loudly as his dry throat and splitting headache would allow, which wasn't very loud.

Even as he said the words, the squeal of the door hinges pierced his brain.

"Go away," he growled.

When the door closed, he heard Steve's voice. "Hi," Steve said softly.

Bucky rolled over onto his side, toward the wall, pressing the ice pack to his face. He sucked in long breaths through his teeth to try to stop the new pain of unshed tears behind his eyes. He didn't want Steve to see him like this. He hadn't even let Steve see his arm yet, and now Steve had just gotten the full picture. All the scars. Spilled pills on the floor. The shithole he called home. He didn't want it to be this way.

He felt a hand touch his back, up near the base of his spine. Steve's fingers moved in small circles and worked their way up his neck.

"Do you want me to go?" Steve asked.

Bucky forced a breath out, and in that breath, he knew the answer. "No," he rasped. His breath hitched. He didn't want Steve to go. He didn't ever want Steve to go. He wanted Steve to stay here with him, wrap his body around Bucky's, and never walk out that door again.

"Roll onto your stomach," Steve whispered. "Put your pillow under your chest so your head can hang a little."

Bucky did as he was told, glad only that he didn't have to look at the pity that was surely written on Steve's face. For a moment, Steve's hand left his neck and took away the warm ice packs. Bucky could hear the sound of his fridge opening. A fresh cold pack slid under Bucky's face, and then Bucky heard the sound of an ice cube tray cracking.

Before he could figure out what was going on, Steve had straddled his lower back. He could feel Steve's firm ass cheeks pressed against the top of his own. Then a spot of cold touched his neck.

His body clenched up instinctively.

"Shhh," Steve said, sliding the ice cube along the vertebrae of his neck. When Steve's fingers combed through his hair to push it up off his nape and the cold ice hit that spot of throbbing pain, Bucky couldn't help but moan. Steve dug his fingers into Bucky's scalp, massaging it as the other hand moved the ice up and down his neck and occasionally down his spine.

"Are you," Bucky gasped, as Steve moved the ice cube down to his lumbar area, "a massage therapist or something?"

Apparently the heat of Bucky's body had already melted the ice cube, because Steve pressed his palm against Bucky's spine and spread the moisture across the muscles, kneading lightly.

"My mom used to get bad headaches," Steve said, his voice low and soothing. "I used to do this for her. Well..." Steve leaned forward and pressed his lips into the center of Bucky's back. "Not all of this."

"It's good," was all Bucky could manage to say.

Steve took another ice cube and pressed it against Bucky's spine. He arched a little and sucked in a breath.

"I stopped by the shelter this morning, and they told me Nat had called to tell them you were sick." Steve laughed a little. "This is going to sound so stupid: I brought you chicken soup. It's like 95 degrees outside, and I brought you hot chicken noodle soup."

Bucky tried to laugh but the sound caught in his throat. Tears pulsed against the inside of his eyelids. How was it possible that someone so perfect could just appear in his life? Drop-dead gorgeous. Muscles like a superhero. Confident, gay, generous, and considerate too? It was too much. Steve was the perfect human being. Bucky was none of those things.

He struggled to keep his breathing even as the tears began to roll off his eyelashes and down his nose. Steve didn't need to know he was crying over fucking chicken soup.

But of course, Steve was perfect, so he did notice.

Steve dropped the sliver of ice cube into the tray and began massaging again, pushing up against the muscles until his chest lay along the length of Bucky's back. The warmth of Steve's body crushed him and it was almost unbearable. More unbearable was the need to cry. Again.

"You okay?" Steve's lips touched Bucky's ear.

The floodgates opened.

"Why do you even like me?" That one sentence depleted the oxygen in his lungs, and he struggled to suck in another breath with Steve's weight on him. He hated the whiny tone of his own voice. "I'm a fucking loser. You're basically perfect and I'm a loser. I keep trying to wrap my head around why you could possibly like about me and I can't think of a goddamned thing."

"You're not a loser," Steve said. He wrapped his arms up so they rested on top of Bucky's.

"Look at me!" Bucky gasped, needing to suck in another breath. "Look around. This is all I can afford, okay? A disgusting little room in my ex-girlfriend's house. I can barely afford this. I'm lucky I haven't been fired from work yet, because Lord knows I've fucked up enough times. Guys like you don't date guys like me. It doesn't make sense."

He sniffed back a stream of snot.

"You feel bad for me? Is that it?" So much easier to make that accusation when he didn't have to look at Steve. "I don't need anyone to feel sorry for me. I brought all this on myself."

That was it. He had done it. Steve would leave now, take his soup with him, and that would be the end of that.

His chest felt hollow.

 _Is he really not going to say anything?_

Apparently he wasn't, yet Steve didn't get up. He stayed on top of Bucky, not moving except for the fingers that curled around Bucky's left hand. The thumb stroked Bucky's wrist. The way Bucky's arm was raised and pinned down was starting to become painful.

 _Was Steve really not going to leave?_

He moved his shoulder a little to try to ease the pain. Steve responded by kissing it, then resting his cheek on Bucky's upper back.

"What happened to you?" Steve asked finally, his voice soft.

Bucky knew what he wanted to know. He wanted to know about the "accident." Bucky drew in a shaky breath. After this, Steve would leave him for sure.

19

"It was the night of junior prom. The plan was to hang out at this kid's house after. We were all drinking and partying and everything, and we were all pretty wasted, and for a while I blacked out and later I woke up and Nat was making out with some dude, like, right on top of me. So I got pissed and left, and then I-"

"Wait," Steve said. "She cheated on you?"

Bucky sighed. "It wasn't like that. She always wanted a three-way. I knew that's what she was angling for, but it pissed me off that she would wait until I was so drunk I could barely walk, not even ask me about the guy first. I don't know. Maybe she did ask me, and I said yes when I was blacked out. I don't remember." He pushed the ice pack against his face. "This is already going off track. I was pissed at her but that's just background noise in this story, okay?"

"All right."

For a few moments he couldn't do more than force himself to breathe. "I knew I wasn't good to drive. If I wrecked my car my stepfather would have a shit fit, so instead I called home for a ride."

He didn't say how he might have driven off if his car hadn't been blocked in.

He didn't say how he had hoped his mom would answer.

He didn't say how pissed his stepfather had been just for him calling at two in the morning for a ride home.

"I blacked out again at some point, or maybe I just don't remember. Next thing I know, I'm in the car with my stepdad, and he's lecturing me-"

 _threatening me_

"-about how worried my mom was and how inconsiderate I was, and I started yelling back, and I don't really remember how it happened... He said I grabbed the wheel, and the car went off the road and we hit a tree. I don't remember any of that."

He remembered more in his nightmares. The lurch of the car making impact, the sound of shattering glass, a brief moment of consciousness with his head and arm half through the windshield.

Against his back, he felt Steve's jaw move as if to speak. "That's not the end of it," Bucky said, before Steve could protest.

"My mom freaked out when she got the call that we were in the hospital. On the way there, _she_ got into a car accident. Hit by some kid, probably drunk from an after-prom party. Ended up in a wheelchair for six months."

When he woke up in the hospital two days later, he barely knew where he was. Didn't stop his stepfather, miraculously uninjured except for a few cuts on his precious face, from telling him about his mother. How his mother's leg was broken in three places, and her hip broken too. How the damage to her face would require plastic surgery. How it was all Bucky's fault.

"If I hadn't been such a fuck-up, none of that would have happened."

"But... she's still alive?"

Steve's question didn't make sense to him. "She still has to use a cane to walk. The scar on her face..." He choked on the words, then said, "I need to get up. My arm hurts."

The weight lifted from his back, and he rolled so he could use his good arm to lift himself up. Then he sat himself up, curled his legs to his chest and rubbed hard at his eyes. The headache pressed against his forehead. His arm tingled like pins and needles and knives.

Steve stood beside the bed until Bucky had situated himself, then he sat back down and put a hand on Bucky's knee. "What happened to your mother wasn't your fault," he said.

Bucky laughed bitterly. "Tell that to my parents." The words from his mother's note floated through his head. "My mother was in physical therapy for six months, at a rehab center. I wanted to visit her, but my stepfather told me she didn't want to see me. The day before she was released, he told me, he said, 'Your mother wants you out of the house before she comes home. I don't care where you go. You are no longer welcome in this house.'"

He sniffed back more snot. "If I hadn't been drinking that night..."

Steve handed him a tissue. For a moment Bucky stared at it, and all it represented. Then he took it and blew his nose. "The thing is, I knew if I called home my stepfather would answer. My mom almost never drove so I knew he'd be the one to come get me. And I knew we'd end up getting into a fight, because we always fought. I should have just stayed at the party until I was sober. Fuck, I should have just fucking fucked that random kid with Natasha, and none of this would have happened."

His sniveling filled the room for a solid block of time. _Soon_ , he thought, _Steve will process the whole story, and then he'll leave. Maybe he'll pretend to feel sorry for me, but in the end he'll leave_.

He flinched when Steve touched his face and tried to turn it. Tried, but Bucky didn't want to look at Steve. He waited for what Steve would say while staring at his knees, his head thrumming with pain.

"I remember this time, when we were kids," Steve said.

Bucky looked up. He didn't know Steve remembered anything from when they were kids.

"You had this..." Steve gestured to his face. "Black eye. I never really saw you get into fights at school, not like me. If I saw any kind of fight I always jumped right in." Now his jaw jutted out defiantly. "I don't like bullies. You remember that time?"

"I remember," Bucky's voice creaked.

"So, you had that black eye before those kids started picking on you. And that made me think, someone else hit you."

Briefly their eyes met, before Bucky looked back down at his knees.

"Your stepfather sounds like an asshole," Steve said.

"He wasn't that bad." _You're fucking defending him? Do you want Steve to hate you that badly?_

"You told me the story. Now I'm going to talk, okay?"

Bucky blinked at Steve's tone.

"First off, yeah, I'm sure any parent would be upset that their kid was out drinking. But you called for a ride instead of drunk driving, so you did the right thing there. Second, you were drunk and your stepdad was sober. He was the one driving, and he didn't have to provoke you into an argument. That accident was _his_ fault. Third, you had _nothing_ to do with the drunk driver who hit your mom. Nothing. It sucks what happened to her, but she's still alive. And just because she blames you doesn't mean you have to blame yourself."

He didn't know what to say. He had never looked at it that way. Maybe because he'd been too busy trying not to be homeless and wondering why his own mother hated him. And hating himself.

Even when he'd gotten that sweater for his birthday, he read those words and didn't understand. _She_ was the one who hadn't wanted to see _him_.

"I can't explain why I like you, Bucky," Steve said softly. "All I know is I want to make you happy. I like making you smile. And..." Bucky looked up in time to see Steve's serious expression twist up into a smile, "I think you're fucking hot as hell."

Bucky let out a laugh that sounded a bit like a sob. "Even though I look like this?" he gestured to his arm, and starting crying again.

Steve's hands grabbed his face on both sides. Now he forced Bucky to look at him. "Yes," Steve said.

And even though that didn't stop Bucky from crying, and even though Bucky still wasn't sure he deserved someone like Steve, his headache started to fade the longer Steve's arms were wrapped around him.

20

Animal control brought the raccoon in late Thursday night.

Apparently the creature had been cannibalizing the trash cans in an affluent neighborhood (Canterbury Court; Bucky had grown up two streets over) and someone had put out a Conibear trap, thinking they had rats. Instead, the trap caught a large raccoon, too large for the trap to kill. A neighbor saw it and called it in.

Bucky followed procedure as best he could - he had never handled a wild animal before. The Animal Control officers had the raccoon tranquilized, so that made things easier, and they gave him a list of instructions for Sharon to go over the following morning. They placed the raccoon in one of the empty dog crates in Sharon's office.

After Animal Control left, it was a half hour past closing. He quickly locked up then headed home on foot in the dark, thinking about the past couple of days.

Tuesday had sucked in some ways, but after all that, he had felt a weight lifted off his chest. It had never occurred to him that his interpretation of his mother not wanting to see him and kicking him out was wrong. He still couldn't quite bring himself to believe it. He had left out some details in his story, and he still felt partially responsible for his mother's accident. But Steve hadn't looked at him in disgust. He hadn't even seemed that grossed out by Bucky's room.

Instead of commenting on the piles of clothes, or the spilled pills, or the lack of real furniture, Steve had pointed to the stack of books on the crate beside Bucky's bed. "What are these?"

Bucky had shrugged. "Just some books from the library."

"The Merck Veterinary Manual... Dr. Kidd's Guide to Herbal Dog Care..." The other titles were about dog training. "Are you going to school for this stuff?"

"No. I just like reading about it."

"You could, you know. Go back to school. I think Springfield Community College has a vet tech program, I'm pretty sure I saw it on their website when I was looking to see if any of the majors interested me."

Bucky made a sort of unsure grumbling sound.

"You could. You're smart, if you're reading stuff like this."

He couldn't even look at Steve. Once again the shame filled him with heat.

"Bucky." Steve touched his arm. "Okay. I want you to imagine you have the money. What else is stopping you from going back to school?"

Bucky sighed. _Go on, keep on crying like a fucking baby. See how long it takes until Steve decides enough is enough._ "I never graduated high school."

"So? Get your GED."

"You make it sound so easy."

"It is that easy. You're the one making it hard." Steve whipped out his phone and found out that SCC offered GED classes.

He wasn't sure why it hadn't occurred to him before to look into getting a GED. Maybe because, in those years after the accident, his memory had been really bad. Going back to school would have been a waste of time. Hell, half the time, when he'd been able to find a job, he hadn't been able to keep it because he'd forget to show up. And back then the Bad Days, like today, happened a couple times a week.

As he had promised before he left on Tuesday, Steve brought Bucky dinner at work the next night. They ate the hamburgers out on the picnic table while a few of the dogs ran loose in the play yard. Bucky had felt drained and not much like talking, but it had been nice to hold hands and watch the dogs and listen to Steve talk about plans for his house and what kind of dog he might like to adopt. "Because I still want to adopt a dog," Steve said, and kissed Bucky's temple. "I didn't come here only to pick up a boyfriend."

Bucky had smiled and asked, "So... you're my boyfriend then?"

"I guess so." Steve bumped his shoulder against Bucky's. "I mean, most of the guys I've been with have been one-time things. This feels... different. Better."

These and other good thoughts kept his mind occupied as he walked home alone in the dark. It was after ten by the time he came to the streetlight at the end of Nat's driveway, and when he finally looked up from the ground, his heart skipped a beat.

Steve's car was parked in the driveway.

"What took you so long?" Nat demanded when he came in. "Steve here was worried sick."

"I'm glad you're okay," Steve said, crossing the room and wrapping his arms around Bucky.

"I'm sorry," Bucky said, feeling a bit bewildered. "I didn't know you were coming over. Animal control brought in this injured raccoon really late."

"I told him you come home at all different times," Nat said.

Steve released him from the hug. "I know you weren't expecting me, but... I was driving back to town and then I remembered that I wanted to tell you this really awesome news, and it was around the time the shelter closed, so I figured I'd just surprise you when you got home. But then it took forever and even Natasha said you were way later than normal and I got worried..."

"Seriously, he was getting ready to go out driving around, looking for you." Nat looked partly annoyed and partly drunk. The wineglass in her hand was nearly empty, as was the bottle at her elbow.

Bucky ignored her. "You had good news?"

"Yeah! I got the call." Steve grinned. "I'm starting my new job next week!"

With as much enthusiasm as he could force, Bucky said, "That's great!"

"Awesome," Nat said flatly. When Bucky flashed her a look, she stood and grabbed the bottle of wine on the table beside her and headed up the stairs. "I'll give the two of you some privacy. Otherwise I'm going to be sick."

"You sure?" Bucky glanced at the television. It was the awful reality show from the other night.

"It's fine. I'm just going to finish off this bottle and pass out."

"Oh. Okay."

Once she had gone, Steve grabbed Bucky's hand and pulled him onto the couch with him, their knees touching. "You didn't have to worry about me," Bucky said.

"Well, Natasha said if you take the bus you're home in fifteen minutes, but most of the time you walk, and you're home by nine." Steve looked pointedly at the clock, which read 10:15. "All I could think was that you were walking home, by yourself, in the dark, and something happened—"

Bucky squeezed Steve's hand. "I'm fine. I walk home every night."

"Still." Steve suddenly got up and retrieved a plastic bag sitting on the armchair. "The whole thing makes this present I bought you this morning perfect."

Bucky stared at the plastic bag thrust into his lap. "A present?"

"Go on, open it."

He hadn't received a present other than that sweater in a very long time. He suddenly felt terrible that he hadn't bought a present for Steve, even though he had no reason to. "Okay."

From inside the folds of the plastic bag, he pulled out a box. "You bought me a phone?"

"It's a Tracfone. You can buy those prepaid cards for it?"

"You bought me a phone?" Bucky wasn't sure whether to be outraged or excited.

Steve slid over, took the box from Bucky's hands and put it on the table. Then he wrapped his arms around Bucky. "It's not like I bought you an iPhone and added you to my cell phone plan, okay?" Steve kissed his neck. "I just want to be able to call you. I mean, I know I can call you at work or here, but... like tonight. I could have called you and found out you were just going to be late, instead of worrying."

Still, Bucky hesitated. He knew he should just say thank you and move on, but he couldn't. "I can... pay you back for it," Bucky said.

"No." Steve's voice brooked no argument. "It's a gift. You don't need to pay me back. Seriously." Steve bumped his forehead against Bucky's. "It didn't cost that much. And it would make me feel better if you had it. Okay?"

"Okay." Bucky glanced at the shiny box. He supposed it wasn't as extravagant a gift as it seemed. It was more that it was something he really needed and should have bought for himself. He swallowed. "Thanks."

"These things can even do texting," Steve said.

"Cool." Bucky smiled. He could send Steve dirty text messages. "So... do you have to go home now, or can you stay for a little while?"

"I haven't started my new job just yet."

It was on the tip of Bucky's tongue to ask Steve if he might want to watch a movie, then Bucky's tongue was in Steve's mouth. Laying back, Steve reached up and turned off the light, leaving them to make out by the flickering glow of the television.

Steve initially grabbed Bucky's face and tried to stick his tongue as far down Bucky's throat as possible, but Bucky had managed to wrestle Steve down and for a good long time now he had been drawing kisses out of Steve, slow and sweet. Only now, the voices on the television were bugging the shit out of him.

He pulled back, and asked, "Do you want to watch a movie?"

"No," Steve said, smirking. He slid his hands down the back of Bucky's pants, inside his underwear, to claim their spot on his ass. Steve's hands were hot.

Bucky laughed softly. "I just have to change the channel or something." He reached for the remote on the end table by Steve's head, during which Steve stole the opportunity to kiss his neck. Bucky fumbled around, trying to find the button to change the channel, as Steve's lips grazed his shoulder and then latched on under his ear. "That feels good," Bucky whispered. He settled on some station playing one of the Indiana Jones movies and returned his attention to Steve.

"My dick is so hard right now," Steve breathed into his ear.

Bucky started sucking on Steve's neck, and lowered his hips so that Steve could feel how hard Bucky was too. He hadn't quite expected how big and hard Steve's cock would feel with their groins pressing together. His pants felt impossibly tight, like his jeans were rubbing against a raw nerve.

Cold air rushed in when Steve removed his hands from Bucky's ass, then Steve's fingers danced around to his stomach and started tugging Bucky's shirt up in the front. Without any further warning, Steve plunged one hand down Bucky's pants. His hot fist curled around the base of Bucky's cock and squeezed.

Bucky almost came right then. As it was, his bad arm gave out and he fell onto Steve's chest. Bucky groaned out a half-intelligible apology and tried to push himself back up. Steve, on the other hand, started squeezing and stroking and Bucky found himself gasping for breath. "Fuck," Bucky exhaled. He gasped and laughed a little and managed to say, "I can't... I can't..." not even sure why he was trying to get his weight off of Steve's chest.

Then Steve had pushed him up and, without letting go of Bucky's dick, eased himself out from underneath. "Lay down," Steve ordered. Bucky tried to get himself comfortable, a feat made difficult by not wanting to let go of Steve's neck, and that killer grip on his dick.

"Oh, fuck," Bucky kept saying.

Once in place, he waited for Steve to lay down. Instead, Steve yanked down Bucky's pants so his dick was exposed and kept stroking. Bucky tugged on Steve's neck. It was like pulling on a stone pillar. Steve took Bucky's wrist and removed it from his neck, pushed it up over Bucky's head. "I want to watch you come," Steve murmured in those few seconds that his face was close to Bucky's.

Bucky lifted his head up and kissed Steve, but the kiss was far too brief before Steve sat up and continued to play with Bucky's dick.

"Please, just kiss me," Bucky begged. He reached for Steve's knee.

Steve's hand cupped Bucky's balls and the delicious pressure made Bucky lay his head back and pant. "I want to make you come," Steve repeated.

Gasping, Bucky shut his eyes and tried to let himself go. The vulnerability of being the only one having an orgasm was something that had always made Bucky avoid oral sex. He thought of what it would be like to have Steve's mouth on his dick. He took in a shaky breath.

Then he thought about how Steve was watching him. Could he see up Bucky's nostrils? What the hell kind of sounds were coming out of his throat? He squeezed his eyes shut. _Stop thinking about that shit_.

Not hard, since he'd never had a hand job this good. Had Steve somehow put lotion on his hands? He wasn't doing so much stroking as kneading, and Bucky could feel his knees trembling under Steve's ass. He licked his lips, tried not to think about his mouth hanging open.

"Oh, God," Bucky cried softly when Steve ran his fingers over the head. After that, words left him. He arched his back and dug his fingers into Steve's knee, and Steve's fist pumped up and down, and then, with a moan of, "Fuck," Bucky came.

Spent, he flopped his head back. He kept his eyes closed, suddenly ashamed of the mess he must have made. He felt Steve mop up his stomach with something, and then Steve laid his weight over him. "Did you like that?" Steve asked. He kissed Bucky's jaw.

Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve's waist, pulling that weight closer, even though his dick was getting crushed a little. He kissed Steve long and deep. "Now let me do you," he said, his voice rough.

Before that could happen, the front door swung open. Bucky was thankful Steve was on top of him, otherwise Clint, who had just walked in, would have seen everything.

"Hey," Clint said, like nothing untoward was happening. "Is Nat upstairs?"

"She went to bed a while ago," Bucky said.

"Yeah, she called me and said she needed a distraction from the gay sex happening in her living room." Clint shrugged. "To the rescue, I guess." He bounded up the stairs.

Steve and Bucky looked at each other, and, faces hot and red, sat up and made themselves presentable again.

 _I really need a new place to live_ , Bucky thought.

21

"I think you should name it Rocket," said Pete. "Rocket the Raccoon."

It was Friday night and all of Nat's friends had rallied to make her feel better. Bucky hadn't planned on hanging out with them - even if Steve was off at a concert with a bunch of his friends - but when he walked through the door and Lucky limped over, tail wagging madly, he couldn't resist. Even if he was mostly giving Lucky a good rubdown and not saying much, aside from telling everyone about the raccoon.

"Wait - do they let people adopt raccoons?" Pete wanted to know.

"No. We just have to make sure it's healthy and then we release it back into the wild."

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

Nat lounged on the couch, nursing a vodka tonic that was mostly vodka. Bucky had tried to apologize to her for last night, but her response had been to snap, "It's fine. I'm just overreacting, okay?" The vodka seemed to have calmed her down a bit, although Mora, Pete's on-again off-again girlfriend, sat beside Nat combing her fingers through her hair and throwing bitchface in Bucky's direction. Then again, Mora had a permanent resting bitchface, even more so than Natasha. Bucky thought it had something to do with her high cheekbones. The facial expression went well with her stage name, "Glamora." She fronted an all-girl band that often performed with Pete's band.

Clint lured Lucky back with a whistle and the promise of a pizza crust. "Here, Pizza Dog," Clint called.

"I hope you feed him real dog food too," Bucky said.

"But he likes pizza! And I can't say no to this face." Clint fed Lucky the crust, then the dog snatched the half-eaten piece of pizza from Pete's hand.

"Hey!" Pete said.

Frankly, Bucky was glad to have a night away from Steve. He still felt overwhelmed by the whole idea of being in a relationship. As much as he craved their time together, he felt spent and exhausted from the week.

"Anyone want another drink?" Pete asked, hoisting himself out of the broken recliner in the corner.

Bucky didn't say anything, just kept scratching Lucky. He even pulled a dog brush from his backpack and started combing the snarls out of Lucky's thick yellow fur. Pete brought a beer in for him anyway, laying the cold bottle against Bucky's neck and startling him. "You look like you need a drink," he said.

"He always looks like he needs a drink," said Clint.

"When's Pepper going to get here?" Mora asked Nat.

Nat waved a hand around limply. "Whenever Tony gets his head out of his ass?"

Eventually Pepper and Tony did show up. As usual, Tony had some long, extravagant story to tell that left most of the room glazed over. Bucky thought about lunch with Steve. Not anything they talked about, just the way the wind had ruffled Steve's hair, and how Steve had to squint in the bright sunlight because he'd left his sunglasses in the car. Steve's hand gripping his thigh, reminding him of the night before.

"One beer and that's it for you, huh?" Pete tossed back the rest of his and sat the bottle next to the three empties on the floor. "Must be nice."

"Aw, he's lovesick," Pepper said, curling against Tony's side.

Bucky looked around and noticed that Natasha was gone, as was Mora. He supposed it was okay to smile. Pepper and Tony were engaged and Pepper loved playing matchmaker. Bucky wondered why Nat would have invited her over, given Nat's current state of mind.

"It's only been a couple of weeks," Bucky said. He gave Lucky one last scratch and stood up.

Pepper nodded sagely. "The honeymoon period."

"Before you run away," Clint said to Bucky, "Do you wanna dog sit next weekend? Like, stay at my place and take care of Pizza Dog?"

Bucky thought of Clint's apartment and tried not to cringe. Then he thought about having his own place for a weekend. "Sure."

"Awesome. I'll make a spare key for you and drop it off before then."

As Bucky headed up to his room, he could hear voices coming from behind Nat's closed bedroom door. That must have been where Nat and Mora went off to.

Bucky shut his bedroom door quietly and pulled off his boots, then lay down on his bed and pulled out one of the books on dog training. He hadn't had much time this week to work with Pocket, but he had made some headway calming the hyper animal. The main problem was the biting, which was difficult to stop, especially in adult dogs.

"...I don't understand why he won't call me back..."

Natasha's voice drifted through the thin walls. Nat was clearly crying. Mora's low voice followed, too quiet to hear.

"...It's so fucked up. I mean, it's temporary, I told him that..."

What was temporary? He could just be paranoid, but it sounded like the topic might have switched from Bruce to Bucky. He reached over and pulled Pete's old Walkman out of his backpack.

"...I know. I know I should, but I just can't. I keep hoping he'll just move out on his own and..."

He hit the play button and drowned it all out.

22

"James!" Nat's voice drifted up the stairs. "You have a phone call!"

Bucky looked in confusion at the unopened box sitting on the crate beside his bed before realizing Nat meant on the house phone. "Coming!" He hurried down the stairs. "Who is it?"

"The gas station?" she said. The question in her voice asked: _why the fuck is the gas station calling you?_

Bucky took the phone up to his room, only answering when he was halfway up the stairs. The Mobile station on Main Street was one of the places he had put in an application on Monday. He set up an interview for next week and returned downstairs to put the phone back on its cradle.

Nat stood there, coffee mug in hand, waiting.

"Now that your boyfriend bought you a phone, you probably shouldn't give out this number anymore."

"Sorry," Bucky said, not feeling very sorry. "I didn't have a phone earlier this week when I was filling out applications for a second job."

"A second job? Oh, so now that you have a boyfriend you've got a fire under your ass to get your own place?"

Bucky slammed the phone down. "My parents canceled my health insurance, okay? And yeah, maybe it'd be nice to have a place of my own so I don't disturb you when my boyfriend comes over. Especially since you're going to be a bitch about it."

Nat took a deep breath like she was going to fire right back at him, stopped, and said, "Your parents canceled your health insurance?"

"Yeah. Or, it expired or whatever. I don't know." He raked his hand through his hair.

"Are you going to ask them why?"

The thought hadn't even occurred to him. "I can't do that."

"Come on, James. It's been, like, seven years. You should just give your mom a call. What's the worst that could happen? She hangs up on you?" Bucky thought there could be much worse, but he didn't say anything. "I mean, that's really shitty. They know you need insurance."

Bucky headed into the kitchen and grabbed a banana. He didn't want to talk about his parents anymore this week. "Hey, is the music store hiring?"

"You want to work at the music store?"

Bucky shrugged. It wasn't _that_ impossible of an idea.

"Do you even _listen_ to music? Oh, no, wait, you have that old Walkman of Pete's!" Natasha laughed. Bucky wasn't sure if it was better to have Natasha in a bitchy mood or to have her laughing at him. "Oh, man. You know what? That would actually be perfect. The hipsters would eat that shit up. You could be our cassette guy! We have these big fucking plastic tubs of cassettes, all jumbled up, no order..." Natasha laughed again. "You could dress up like you're from the eighties!"

Apparently the thought of this was too hilarious for further explanation. Bucky bit into his banana and waited.

"No, no. That would be too gimmicky. You've got this nineties grunge thing going on, they would totally think you were trying to be retro or ironic or whatever." Nat giggled again. "Sorry. I was imagining you in, like, a neon fanny pack and acid wash jeans."

"So is the store hiring?"

"Ah. No. But I could talk to the owner. You just need something part-time, right?"

"Yeah. Something between my hours at the shelter."

"I'll talk to the owner, maybe he'd be willing to take someone else on. Or get rid of some of the losers I work with." Nat sipped her coffee. "But seriously, you should talk to your parents."

Bucky pushed off the counter and headed back to his room. "I'll think about it."

Back in his bedroom, Bucky took his new phone out of the box and turned it on. He had expected he'd need to charge it up or something, but the screen lit up right away, ready to use. Flipping through the instruction manual, he figured out how to find his contacts list, then laughed when the screen popped up. Steve had already programmed his number into the phone.

Bucky flopped back on his bed and hit the "call" button.

After only one ring, Steve picked up. "Hey."

"Hi! Guess what! I'm calling you on my new phone!"

"Great..."

Something sounded off about Steve's voice. A weird note of disappointment? He had thought Steve would be more excited.

"Do you want to hang out tonight? Maybe at your place?"

"Um... did you forget?"

Bucky froze for a moment. "Forget what?" he asked slowly. He searched his memory for what he could have possibly forgotten. Nothing. He didn't remember anything about making plans with Steve for the weekend.

"The cookout. Memorial Day slash housewarming party?"

His mind was blank. He thought back to Thursday night. He didn't remember Steve mentioning it. Today was Saturday. Yesterday... Bucky struggled to remember. He had gone to work, hadn't he? Had Steve stopped by? Yes. They'd had lunch.

"It started at one?" Steve pressed.

Bucky pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the time. _Fuck_. It was almost three.

"I'm sorry," Bucky said. "I totally forgot. I'll, um, I'll see if Nat can give me a ride over?"

"Okay, good. I told my friends all about you."

 _And now I made you look like an idiot._ As Bucky hung up, he wondered how he could have forgotten something like this. He thought he had been getting better.

For a hurried minute he considered changing out of his grungy clothes. He wanted to make a good impression on these friends of Steve's, but he also wanted to get to Steve's house already. They'd just have to deal with what he normally looked like.

"Nat?" Bucky called as he hurried down the stairs. "Can you give me a ride to Steve's house?"

Nat had her purse slung over her shoulder, sunglasses on, keys in hand. She looked at him, the reflective lenses of her sunglasses unreadable.

"Steve invited me to this cookout at his place. Which I totally forgot about. But if you're busy I can take the bus, I guess."

"I'll take you," Nat said, her voice flat.

"You could probably go to the party too," Bucky babbled as he followed her out to her car. "I'm sure Steve wouldn't mind. And I don't really know any of his friends."

Nat just started the car and looked at him. "Which way?"

"He lives out on Blue Hill Road."

Nat's silence filled the vehicle and quickly became unbearable. He didn't understand what had happened to the Natasha who had just been laughing in the kitchen. Finally he asked, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said shortly.

"I'm sorry about the other night," Bucky said. "I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

Natasha sighed. "It's okay. I'm just... more upset about Bruce than I want to be. I was leaving to drive around and clear my head, maybe do a little retail therapy."

"You could come to Steve's party," Bucky said again. "I'm sure there will be lots of guys there, if you need a distraction."

"The funny thing is, I don't want a distraction." She sighed again. "He called me, finally. Said he needed some time to get his head on straight. Part of me wanted to say, No, I don't want to wait around for you. Come back to me now or I'm gone. The other part of me thought, I want him, and I'll wait as long as it takes for him. Is that stupid?"

"No." Bucky had never seen Natasha behave this way after a break up. She always rebounded with some hopeless idiot she could crush under her heel. "I think it means you really care about him."

Steve's farmhouse came into view. Cars filled the driveway and lined the street, and Bucky could see people milling around in the backyard around the grill, sitting in lawn chairs, and a game of volleyball happening. "This is it," Bucky told Nat, suddenly nervous.

"Steve must be a popular guy," Nat said. She stopped the car and waited while Bucky got out. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah." Bucky tried to sound confident.

"Call me if you need to come home," Natasha said, then he was left on his own.

23

The door behind the screen door was open, and Bucky didn't see anyone standing nearby, so he headed inside and glanced around. No Steve in sight. He ducked his head and made his way into the kitchen. No Steve there, either, although a few women in sundresses were preparing something on the counter. "Beer's in the cooler," one of them said when they saw him standing there, pulling the sleeves of his flannel shirt over his hands.

Needing some liquid courage, he took one, popped the top, and chugged down half of it.

He wound his way through the living room, headed for the back door. Maybe Steve was outside. Somehow, he had imagined it would be just Sam and the same group he'd met at karaoke. This looked to be an entire army base, complete with the army wives. There were way too many people. Had Steve been planning to introduce him to everyone here?

"Bucky! Hey!"

Steve called out the second Bucky opened the back door, and waved. Bucky took another swig of beer and tried to ignore all the eyes on him now. _There's Steve's new boyfriend_ , he imagined them thinking. _Two hours late to the party._

Then Steve slung his arm around Bucky's shoulder and kissed him on the cheek. Bucky smiled nervously at the small group of people clustered around Steve. "Guys, this is Bucky. Bucky, this is..."

Even as Steve named his friends, Bucky forgot them. He tried to smile. Two of the guys looked familiar, and Bucky thought he remembered them from high school. _Great_.

After the requisite questions about what Bucky did for a living and how did they meet, Steve pulled Bucky over to meet another group of people whose names Bucky also forgot immediately. Then other friends wanted Steve to play volleyball. "Come on, let's play," Steve said, tugging on Bucky's bad arm.

"I'll just watch," Bucky said. He observed the game for a while, gulping down drink after drink. After a while he could pretend there was a buffer between himself and everyone else at the party, and just focus on watching Steve. Steve's friends were awfully touchy-feely. Was that something all guys did, pat each other on the ass or rub each other's shoulders? Or was it something a group of mostly gay guys did?

Eventually the sun started to get to him, and he headed up to the porch to sit in one of the unoccupied Adirondack chairs. He could still see Steve, and now he was even further insulated from the party going on around him. He closed his eyes. It was important that Steve's friends like him, but he couldn't seem to figure out how to make that happen.

The chair beside him creaked and Bucky opened his eyes to find Sam sitting beside him. "Hi," Bucky said.

"How's it going?" Sam asked. "I guess you didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you started dating a military man."

"No." Bucky scraped at the label on his beer. He didn't know how many he'd had. "Steve has a lot of friends."

"Try not to get overwhelmed. I'm his best friend, so I'm the one you need to impress."

Bucky laughed. "Oh, is that so."

"Damn right. You're a lot different than most of the guys Steve hooks up with." Bucky wasn't sure what to make of that, but then Sam told him. "That's a good thing." He gestured to the crowd of people. "Half of these fools are in love with him."

Startled, Bucky looked at the party-goers in a whole new light. All the clean-cut guys in polo shirts with perfectly tanned skin and defined muscles. The ones trying to get their hands on Steve at any opportunity.

"So, I don't want you to take this the wrong way or anything," Sam said, an opening that jerked Bucky's attention away from Steve's dating history. "But Steve was telling me a little bit about what you've been through, and..."

 _Steve did what?_

Bucky's shock caused him to miss part of what Sam was saying, and he tuned back in to hear, "I run a PTSD group. It's mostly for soldiers, but it's open to anyone. And if you don't think that one works for you, there are a bunch of other groups that meet every week down at the counseling counter. There's a group for victims of abuse, anger management – not that I think you need anger management, I'm just saying. I mean, there are a lot of groups."

"Huh," Bucky heard himself say. He looked back out at Steve, who had just scored a point and was doing a touchdown dance that made everyone laugh. "What exactly did Steve tell you?"

"Look, Steve didn't tell me that much. He was asking on your behalf, and I said I'd talk to you about it. He just wants to help you."

Bucky only needed to glance at Sam's brown eyes to know the man was just trying to help. Whatever this intervention was, Sam meant well. Still, he felt betrayed.

"Thanks," Bucky managed to say. "I'll... look into it." He hadn't the slightest idea how to do that. Probably he'd need a computer. He certainly didn't want to walk down to the counseling center, wherever that was.

Sam handed him a card. "The website's on there, and they also have an anonymous hotline. And a regular phone number. They list all the support groups and they're all anonymous. If you decided to join one, I'm not allowed to tell anyone about it. Not even Steve. Top secret." Sam smiled.

Bucky accepted the card, but didn't look at it before shoving it in his pocket. "Thanks," he said again, hoping Sam would get the picture. He tilted his beer back. Sam still wasn't getting up, so Bucky did. "Well, time for a refill."

He went inside, made a pit stop in the bathroom, then returned to the kitchen for another beer, hoping no one would be in there. No such luck. The women in the sundresses were still occupying the kitchen, mixing up tall glasses of Long Island iced tea. One of them seemed to recognize him.

"You're Steve's new boy toy, aren't you?" The woman had shiny dark curls and a strikingly beautiful face, and a British accent to top it all off. "Bucky, right?"

"Yeah," he said, twisting off the top of his beer. He briefly wondered if Steve had told all his friends about his problems. _You know Steve wouldn't do that. He was just trying to help._

"We were all pretty bummed when we found out he batted for the other team," said one of the other women, another gorgeous face framed by glossy brown hair. "He's too hot to be straight."

"Yeah," he said again. Before things could get too awkward, he asked, "How do you all know Steve?"

"I know we look like army wives," said the British one, flouncing her skirt a little, "but we all served too. Trained up at the base with Steve and Sam and the rest of these guys." She lifted her arm and flexed her bicep.

"God, Peggy, put the guns away!" squealed the blonde on her left. "You're gonna scare poor Bucky away!"

"You want something stronger than that beer?" asked the American brunette. "Come on, let us make you a drink. Bud Light is like piss water."

"Must be why I'm not drunk yet," Bucky said. He set his beer down. These ladies seemed nice enough. The Long Island iced tea they handed him, however, was mighty strong. He nearly gagged on the first sip.

This time, when the girls told him their names, they stuck. Peggy, Dottie, and Angie.

"I'd love a kitchen like this," said Dottie, the blonde, running her fingers along the granite countertop.

Angie smiled deviously. "You just want a man like Steve who will cook for you in a kitchen like this."

"Yes, that would be true. But a house! Not on an army base!"

"Do you move around a lot?" Bucky asked.

"I was originally stationed in Florida," Dottie said. She sighed. "Those were the days."

Before Bucky knew it, he had finished off the iced tea and started drinking another. His lips felt pleasantly numb. Gone were the thoughts that he needed to call Natasha to pick him up soon... although he did wonder where Steve was. He wondered if Steve was wondering where Bucky was. He found himself glancing out the kitchen window that overlooked a corner of the backyard. The volleyball game was over, and now a few people were batting around a badminton birdie.

Then arms were wrapping around his waist and Steve's head nestled onto his shoulder. "Hey." Steve's breath smelled like beer, and when his lips touched down on Bucky's neck they were cold.

Bucky couldn't help but smile. "Hi."

"Come play with me," Steve whined.

Drunk enough to forget what he wanted to talk to Steve about, he allowed Steve to pull him outside by his hand. He could play badminton. That only involved one hand, right? Soon it was Steve and Bucky versus Peggy and Angie, and then someone announced that the burgers were ready, and they ate and laughed and talked until evening fell and the mosquitoes came out.

Even then they stayed outside in the warm air, sitting in lawn chairs and drinking more. Bucky didn't say much, he never did, but he liked listening to Steve's friends talking and finding out about man beside him, about Steve's time training. Steve also didn't say much when the topics turned to time spent in Afghanistan. While some of the other guys laughed about what they did for fun out in the desert, Bucky glanced at Steve's faraway expression and dropped his hand down between their chairs to hook his pinky finger around Steve's.

Steve looked up, smiled a little, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"We should be able to see the town fireworks from here," someone said. Chairs were relocated to face the direction of the town park, fresh drinks were mixed or opened, and blankets were placed on the lawn. The sky's pink and gold streaks faded to gray and blue, and finally it was dark enough.

The first of the fireworks lit up the sky. Steve inched his chair closer so he could put his arm around Bucky, and Bucky rested his head on Steve's shoulder and felt fuzzy and numb and happy and safe.

24

When Bucky woke up, he was in Steve's bed, wearing only his underwear. Beside him he found Steve still asleep, stretched out and naked beside him, with his dick pointing up at the ceiling.

He had a vague memory of stumbling up to Steve's room and falling onto the bed, of kissing and then not much else.

He gazed at Steve's face for a moment or two, listening to his relaxed breathing, before his eyes were drawn back to Steve's erection. A smile stretched across his face. Would it be creepy? He wasn't sure. He thought he'd enjoy waking up to his boyfriend's mouth around his cock.

Without any further second guessing, he crawled over the mattress, trying to make as little movement as possible. Should he position himself between Steve's legs? Bucky didn't really like that idea. He hated the idea of Steve watching him. Would it be better or worse for Steve to wake up with Bucky's ass in his face? He was wearing underwear, so it wasn't quite as gross. He took a second to insure that his underwear didn't have any holes. _Nope. I'm good._

He took extra care as he straddled one leg over Steve's chest. Steve's breaths were still steady and even. _What's he dreaming about?_ Bucky wondered, then tried to fit Steve's entire dick in his mouth.

He gagged. He knew he was supposed to get it past the gag reflex, he remembered that much from the one time he had done this, back when he was thirteen. _Jonathan._ Of course, he'd been interrupted back then. Permanently interrupted. _Stop_. The whole reason he got kicked out of military school. _Don't think about that._

Steve's dick was so big. Giggling softly, he licked around the tip, pretending it was a lollipop. He remembered Jon's penis smelling like sweaty gym socks. Steve's had been airing out all night and had a musky smell that wasn't unpleasant. In his head he compared what he was doing to the only other experiences he had: the blowjob Jon had given him, which at the time had felt like the best thing ever, and those he had received from Natasha and a couple other girls he had dated back in high school. Nat had been by and far the best with her mouth, although she'd only blown him twice, both times in the backseat of his car. He tried doing some things with his tongue he remembered liking. Then he took a deep breath, steadied himself with his hand around the base, and went down.

Behind him, Steve's breathing changed. A deep inhale that never settled back into the long, slow breaths of sleep. Steve's legs moved a little.

Bucky kept going, the little sounds and movements spurring him on. Now he tried deep-throating again. Maybe it was the additional lubrication from his own tongue, or maybe the excitement of Steve waking up to it, but he got it down where it should be. God, it was so big. He tried to get it even further down, choked on it.

Steve groaned. In his throat, Bucky felt Steve's dick harden even further. Which made Bucky get hard.

He started working up and down. He imagined Steve dreaming about him. Some hot wet dream, and he'd wake up and never know it had really happened.

Beneath him, Steve moved his arms. Bucky wondered if Steve was really awake now, if he would take offense to the ass in his face - then Steve grabbed Bucky's ass and squeezed hard.

The suddenness made Bucky choke a little and he came up for air briefly before easing Steve's cock down his throat again. He rocked his hips with the movements of his head, pulling slightly away from Steve's grip then pushing his ass back into Steve's hands. Steve was breathing hard now. Down he went, deep, and Steve groaned and arched his back.

The heat from Steve's hands left, only to crawl up to Bucky's hips, where they latched into his underwear and yanked down. The elastic caught on his erection. Steve tugged again, but they refused to move. That didn't stop Steve. As Bucky took the length of Steve into his mouth, his lips brushing Steve's balls, Steve grabbed Bucky's hips and thrust his face into Bucky's ass.

Bucky started to fall forward, caught himself. Steve's tongue flicked over his asshole, teasing and pressing. He was tempted to stop and just enjoy what Steve was doing to him, but after the other night, Bucky wanted to make Steve come. For the moment he exhaled a sigh of pleasure – all he could do, really, given that his throat was occupied - and recommenced with his own tongue.

His jaw started to hurt. He didn't care. Steve had dropped his head back and was panting and gripping Bucky's ass like a life preserver. He wanted Steve to come.

Beneath him, Steve made a grunting sound. His fingers moved up to Bucky's hips again, curled around the waistband of his underwear and pulled. A tearing sound came along with pressure digging into his hips, pulling tight against his erection. Steve growled, and then, with a long rip, Bucky felt the release of pressure and a rush of cool air as Steve tore his underwear right off his body.

With Steve's cock deep in his throat, he could only make the barest of sounds as Steve pulled Bucky's dick in his mouth.

Sixty-nining. Wasn't that a thing every horny teenager wanted to try? Wasn't that a phase people grew out of? It hadn't even occurred to him when he had straddled Steve that they might end up like this. Bucky struggled to focus on his technique. He was slobbering now, unable to go as deep for how much he wanted to cry out in pleasure. With his dick inside Steve he could feel how close Steve was to coming, which made him more excited.

It became a frenzy of panting and licking and sucking and then – with a shudder beneath him that gave him just enough time to get Steve all the way down his throat, Steve came.

Bucky came seconds later.

He had never tasted semen before. It coated the back of his throat, salty and warm. He rolled off of Steve and lay on his back, finally getting to look at Steve's face. Steve laughed quietly as he sat up and wiped off his chest with the sheet.

"Sorry," Bucky said.

"Sorry?" Steve gave Bucky a playful grin and pulled on Bucky's foot, sliding him closer. He leaned over Bucky and kissed him. "What are you sorry for? That was a fucking awesome way to wake up."

Their bare chests touching, they pressed their tired lips together. Steve pulled away, but Bucky wasn't done yet. He wrapped his arms around Steve's wide shoulders and drew him back down. Then Steve flopped to the side, and they lay in each other's arms for a while, listening to the sounds of birds chirping outside, a lawnmower engine roaring in the far distance.

Steve suddenly stretched and sat up. "I'm hungry."

Bucky rolled onto his stomach and watched Steve get up and pull on his underwear. Bucky laughed. Steve's boxer shorts were printed with an American flag.

"What's so funny?" Steve asked, striking a pose.

"I'm wishing I had underwear like that." Bucky stood up. "I'm going to have to go commando." He picked up his jeans.

"I do have another pair," Steve said. He pulled open his bureau drawer and held up a pair of white boxers covered half in blue stars and half in red stripes. Bucky laughed. "No, wait." He dug around, then pulled out an unopened package. "Here."

He tossed it and Bucky managed to catch it. "I don't mind wearing your underwear," Bucky said, then bit his lower lip and smiled.

"As much as I wouldn't mind you wearing my underwear," Steve said, "I think you'd look good in those."

Bucky tore open the package. They were black silk boxers, soft in his hands. They seemed unlike anything Steve would have chosen for himself. "Did... someone else buy these for you?"

"Yeah. They're not my style, which is why I never wore them."

Bucky hesitated, then pulled them on. After years of wearing nothing but worn cotton boxer briefs, the silky fabric felt amazing. He glanced up and noticed Steve watching him hungrily.

"I mean, was it someone you were dating?" Bucky asked. The idea put a bit of a damper over the whole thing.

Steve crossed the room, put his arms around Bucky, and grabbed his ass. "It was some guy I slept with once who got a little obsessed with me, okay? I never wore them. And I'm glad I kept them, because you look fucking hot in them."

It took them a little longer to get dressed than planned.

25

When Bucky walked into Nat's house late Sunday afternoon, he thought he had somehow entered the wrong house.

The kitchen counters were cleared of all the clutter and junk mail. Likewise, he could actually see the wood of the table, polished and shining, with only a ceramic bowl of fruit as a centerpiece. No dishes in the sink. The faucets gleamed. Even the refrigerator had been stripped of the broken magnets and old notes and photographs. A couple photos remained tacked to the metal doors. Bucky could see from here that one of them was a strip of 4 photos from a photo booth. Natasha and Bruce, smushed together in the tiny space, mugging for the camera.

In the living room, same story: the stacks of magazines from years past were gone, the end tables had been polished, and there was a new rug and coffee table that completely changed the room. New lamps, too. Little baskets lined the storage space underneath the coffee table and held the TV remotes and other knick-knacks that had cluttered up the place.

Bucky found Natasha upstairs in the bathroom, on her hands and knees scrubbing the tub while a radio played country music from the hallway.

"Country?" Bucky asked. "And you questioned my taste in music."

Nat gave him a look.

"The downstairs looks really good," he said. "Seriously. I like the new rug and stuff."

"Thanks." Nat sat back on her heels and wiped the hair out of her face. "Where were you last night?"

"I stayed over at Steve's."

"You're moving fast," Nat commented.

Bucky shrugged, then thought of the morning and blushed. "So, what made you decide to clean? Do you need any help?"

"I'm almost done here," Nat said. She turned to continue scrubbing, and despite her answer, Bucky grabbed a spray bottle and some paper towels and started on the sink. "I don't know, I was thinking and decided I need to change some things about my life. Like, I'm twenty-five years old, and if you look at all my friends, I should be golden. I have this house, debt-free. My student loans are paid off. But what am I doing? Nothing. Dead-end job, letting this house rot out from under me."

"Sounds like you're having a quarter-life crisis."

"Pretty much." She stopped scrubbing and turned to face Bucky. "Do you ever feel like that? Like there's something more you should be doing?"

"Only all the time," he said. He wondered if she was going to bring up him moving out. Then he bit the bullet and brought it up himself. "I know part of all this is me living here, you don't have to dance around it. I need to get myself together. I've been sitting around far too long."

"We both have," Nat stressed. "And I guess I just thought... with Bruce, that we were going to get married. Like getting married was the next thing for me to do. Until he left, I didn't think anything else about my life. Then it hit me, that I was just following this societal order of things to do, and none of those things have anything to do with me and my goals in life and being happy. I majored in Russian Literature. I have a fucking bachelor's degree in Russian literature. I thought I wanted to be a professor, and then I just never went to grad school. I don't know. I wanted to travel. And now I just work at a crappy music store."

"But wouldn't it kind of solve most of your problems if I just moved out?" Bucky asked.

Nat shrugged a little. "It would solve some of the problems. But not all of them. Besides, if you moved out, who would I talk to?" She looked down at the sponge in her hands and wrung it out into the bucket. "Seriously. I've been kind of a bitch to you lately, and I'm sorry. You're, like, one of my best friends."

Bucky had always assumed Nat thought of him as an ex-boyfriend and nothing more. She had Clint and Mora and Pete and Pepper as friends. He felt his throat constrict. "For a long time, you've been my only friend."

"God, James." Nat laughed and wiped at her eyes. "You're going to make me cry." Standing, she hugged him around his waist. "We're a mess, both of us."

Later, when Bucky returned to his room, he looked around. Natasha was right. Just because he couldn't afford to live anyplace else didn't mean he had to live like this. He reorganized his piles of clothes, put the dirty ones in his laundry bag, straightened up his other belongings. Tomorrow he could vacuum; when was the last time he'd done that? There were still pills on his floor. He picked them up, lined his pill bottles up on the mini fridge, and felt the familiar twist of anxiety in his gut.

He stood and pulled everything out of his pockets so he could take his pants off and go to bed. His keys, new cell phone, a bottle cap, an old tissue, and a business card. Bucky stared at the card. He hadn't said anything to Steve all day. He didn't think he had forgotten about it. He had avoided thinking about it and avoided asking Steve about it the way he had avoided everything else in his life. It wouldn't have been hard to bring it up.

Support groups for victims of abuse, Sam had said. Yeah, Sam had mentioned the PTSD group he ran, but he had made sure to mention the abuse. So Steve had told Sam his theory about Bucky's black eye back in third grade or whatever. _He also mentioned anger management,_ Bucky reminded himself. _Steve doesn't think you have anger issues._

Bucky set the card down next to his cell phone and stripped down to his silky black boxer shorts, which he had almost forgotten about. He chewed on his lip, then snatched up the cell phone and flopped back onto the bed.

 _really like these new boxers,_ he typed, and pressed send. He stared at the screen, waiting for Steve to respond, until the light dimmed and went out. He reached down and caressed the silk.

Just the thought of Steve's fingers squeezing him through the fabric turned him on. If he closed his eyes he could even imagine it was Steve rubbing between his legs. _Fuck, Steve's mouth_. Bucky licked his lips.

The phone vibrated on his chest.

 _they make your ass look hot_

Another buzz.

 _I can't stop thinking about you and your sweet ass_

Bucky laughed softly. He didn't want to stop touching himself in order to text Steve back.

 _can't stop thinking about this morning_

Buzz. _me 2_

Buzz. _Are those boxers the only thing you're wearing?_

 _yes_

In the long moments that followed, Bucky wondered what Steve was doing. Was Steve touching himself, too? He had to ask.

 _are you wearing the stars & stripes?_

Agonizing seconds passed before the next buzz. _I'm not wearing anything._

 _Fuck._ Bucky plunged his hand inside the boxers. He wished he had some kind of lotion, and cast around his room for something that might fit the bill. _But then I'd ruin my favorite new underwear._

He fumbled for the phone, rolling over and kneading himself into a throbbing ache while he typed.

 _you always go to bed commando?_

The response was nearly instantaneous. _I'll put on my patriotic underpants if you want_

 _yes. please._ Bucky panted. His fingers shook as he focused on hitting the little keys. _send me a pic?_

He didn't know if he'd be able to wait until Steve sent anything. Hell, he didn't know if he could even receive image texts on this kind of phone. He tried to slow down. Tried not to think of Steve naked on his bed, thinking of him.

A minute passed, and Bucky realized he was going to have to take the boxers off or he'd ruin them. He rolled onto his back again, tried to slip them down quickly. The phone buzzed beside him. He groaned in frustration and kicked his legs, trying to get the damn things off and roll over to see what Steve had sent at the same time.

If there was such a thing as patriotic pornography, this would be it. Those flag shorts, pushed down so low Bucky could make out the V that pointed straight to Steve's dick. Steve had his hand down the front of his pants.

And Bucky was done.

26

Most people had Memorial Day off, but Bucky had chosen to work. Holidays paid time and a half.

The shelter teemed with volunteers, who were having their annual Memorial Day plant sale fundraiser on the lawn. With all the people in looking at animals and asking questions, Bucky barely had time to sweep the floors or clean out the cages. He tried to let Maria and Phil handle most of the people, but they were both busy when Bucky saw a couple of large tattooed guys checking out Cheddar in his pen.

"Do you guys have any questions?" Bucky asked, sweeping the already clean floor beside them.

"What kind of dog is this?" said the shorter one, who had greasy black hair and wraparound sunglasses. He had a tattoo of a growling bulldog wearing a spiked collar.

"Well, technically Cheddar is a mutt," Bucky said. He reached down to scratch between Cheddar's ears. "She's definitely got some bulldog in her though. And she's been spayed and she's up to date on all her shots."

"You got any pitbulls?" The taller man's leather vest squeaked as he crossed his arms.

"Um, not at the moment. We get a lot of pitbull rescues, actually. If you sign up for our email list, you can get notified when we get one in. Oh! We do have one pitbull mix." He led them around to the next aisle. "This is Harley," he said, introducing the mutt with a boxy, pitbull-like face. Harley regarded the two men with indifference. In the next pen over, a spotted rat terrier named Pachecho jumped up and yapped.

"Who's this little guy?"

Bucky blinked at the taller man's sudden soft voice. "Pachecho. We call him Cho."

"Can I pick him up?"

It didn't take long for both men to fall for the excited little dog, and soon Bucky was sending them up front to start the paperwork. He headed back to Cheddar's pen for his broom. "That was close," he whispered through the pen's door. "Sorry I made you into a girl. Didn't want you to get drafted into a dog fighting ring." He slipped Cheddar a bit of cheese from his pocket.

A family of five came in to find themselves a dog, and with all the commotion, it would have been easy not to see the dark-haired, bespectacled woman with the gray dress five sizes too large for her quietly wandering the aisles. She shrank back from the running children and the dogs who barked or jumped.

Bucky sneaked glances at her as he made his way to the back of the kennel and opened the cage of Sandy, a true mutt with fur in an array of brown and caramel colors. He spoke softly to her and clipped on a leash. Months ago, when Sandy had been brought in, she cowered in her pen when anyone entered. It had taken a lot of quiet and gentle training to get her to allow him to even pet her.

Now he led her out, keeping himself between her and the running children. She pressed herself against his leg. When he stopped beside the woman in the gray dress, he could feel Sandy trembling, and he continually stroked her head to reassure her.

"Do you need any help today?" he asked the woman.

"Oh, I don't know." The woman glanced down at Sandy and twisted her hands. "I feel like I might be rushing things... I lost my Precious last month and..." The woman pressed her lips together. "I just miss having her there, you know? When I come home from work, she would be there waiting for me." The woman glanced at the other dogs in their pens. "Precious was so quiet. I don't know if I can handle a young puppy. But I don't want to adopt an older dog and go through all this again so soon."

Bucky rubbed Sandy's ear and said, "Well, Sandy here is only four."

The woman peered down at the dog. "She seems quiet." Holding her hand out, the woman waited for Sandy to sniff it thoroughly.

"She was a rescue," Bucky said. "Her owner neglected her and left her alone. She has some incontinence issues because he wouldn't let her out enough, or he would beat her if she made a mess."

"Oh, the poor thing." Now that Sandy had licked the woman's wrist, the woman crouched down and cautiously petted Sandy's neck.

Bucky could tell by the way Sandy's big brown eyes watched the woman that she had found a kindred spirit. He put Sandy back in her cage and walked the woman out front to get her started on adoption papers. The woman was thrilled. "Thank you so much, uh, what was your name again, young man?"

"James," Bucky said.

He was feeling pretty good about his canine matchmaking abilities until he heard the woman say happily to Nick, "It's so wonderful you hire homeless people here."

Through the windows, Nick looked at Bucky and raised an eyebrow. Bucky turned away, ducking his head. _I really need some clothes without holes in them._

"I remember seeing that young man," the woman continued, oblivious. "It was a few years ago, he used to live in a tent on the side of the road. It's so nice to see him working and getting his life together."

Bucky could feel Nick watching him the rest of the day. He kept his head down and did his job. When Nick stopped him on the way out, Bucky spoke first. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'll try not to dress like a homeless person tomorrow." It came out sarcastic, and he snapped his mouth closed and bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying more.

"I was going to commend you on your knack for matching up adoptions," Nick said drily, "but yes, that too."

Bucky cursed himself as he walked out the door. He should have kept his mouth shut, and then Nick would have just been complimenting him. _Stupid_.

Taking out his phone, he saw a new text from Steve. _pick you up at 6 for dinner?_ He had an hour to kill.

Bucky took the long way home.

It wasn't so much a longer distance to walk - the distance was more akin to time travel. He passed houses that reminded him of his childhood. The trees, evenly spaced, arched over the road and transformed it into a separate world, private and secluded, which was exactly what the residents of Lynnbrook Avenue wanted. Only the big old oaks weren't enough. All the houses surrounded themselves with wrought iron fences that towered twice Bucky's height and lined those fences with ivy and enough flowering foliage to make visibility from the street nearly impossible.

There was a spot, a quarter of the way down this particular fence, however, where the foliage was not quite as thick. If he stood with his cheek pressed to the cold iron, he could see through the leaves to the attached gazebo porch where his mother liked to sit and read, where she and his stepfather might eat dinner outside on such a nice day.

Today, as bees buzzed near his face, he could see his mother, relaxing on the wicker chaise lounge, a thick hardcover in her afghan-covered lap.

She looked peaceful. She usually did, until she had to get up. For now, though, she read and sipped lemonade and Bucky could make himself believe she was better off without him.

27

"I'm kind of nervous about tomorrow," Steve said at dinner.

Steve had taken him to a noisy Mexican restaurant. Though they sat in a booth in the corner, Bucky had hoped for something more private. He had actually considered sitting on the same side of the booth as Steve, but thought that would be weird. At least, he had always thought it was weird when other people did it.

He didn't know how Steve could act so normal. Ordering food and chatting about his job. The second Bucky had seen Steve, he had wanted to jump his bones. Now his jeans felt uncomfortably tight, and he had to keep shifting his legs.

"They want you to start already?" Bucky asked. He sucked down half his glass of water.

"It's an orientation or something. Getting my paperwork filled out and stuff, showing me around. But I feel almost like it's another interview. And I'm going to have to wear a tie." Steve made a face.

"I'm sure you'll be fine." _Steve wearing a tie._

"I know, but... it's like my first real job, you know?" Grabbing the menu again, he said, "I know I shouldn't drink the night before my first day but I really want a drink. Do you want a drink?"

Bucky shrugged. "One drink would be fine."

"Yeah. I'm going to do that."

As Steve craned his neck looking for the waiter, Bucky nibbled on a tortilla chip. The question _Why did you tell Sam about me?_ sat on the tip of his tongue.

 _Why bother asking,_ he told himself. _Steve wanted to help._

 _What am I, a fucking charity case?_

The waiter distracted him for a minute while they gave their orders. Then he was gone and Steve started talking about his job again.

Bucky stared at Steve's lips. The fullness of the bottom lip fascinated him in the way it curved around Steve's words. He wanted to run his tongue over it. He wanted to feel it between his teeth.

It took him a minute to realize Steve had stopped talking and was looking at Bucky with raised eyebrows.

"Hmmm. What?" Bucky asked.

Steve grinned, like he knew what Bucky had been thinking. Under the table, Steve's foot nudged his. "I asked how your day went."

"It was okay," he said.

"Just okay?" Steve asked. "You get any new dogs in that would be perfect for me to adopt? Aside from Cheddar?"

Bucky shook his head. "It was close, I had to trick a couple biker-type guys into not adopting him. I even told them Cheddar was a girl. Turns out they weren't the dog-fighting types I thought."

"What kind of guys were they?"

The waiter dropped off their drinks and Bucky elaborated on his day. He kept finding himself distracted by Steve's face. And his forearms, when Steve's propped his elbows on the table. Steve laughed when Bucky's sentences trailed off, and tapped him with his foot to get him back on track.

By the time he had finished his margarita, Steve had downed two and was looking around. "Where's the waiter?"

"Maybe you should stop," Bucky said, his voice low.

Steve didn't seem to hear him. Sitting back, Bucky laced his fingers together and twisted them. He stared at the empty ice in his glass. _If he has another one you can't let him drive you home._

When the waiter came over, Bucky pressed his fingers together until his knuckles were white. "Can I just get the check, please?" he heard Steve say from a great distance.

Bucky glanced up and exhaled all that tension.

Steve grabbed Bucky's hand across the table as soon as the waiter left. "Wanna come back to my place for a bit?"

"Okay."

Soon they were driving down country roads with the windows open. Steve had taken Bucky's hand and held it flat against his thigh. Bucky could feel the micro muscle movements of Steve's leg as he adjusted pressure to the gas pedal. It was his bad hand, and his fingers trembled a bit. He hoped Steve didn't notice, or if he did, maybe thought it was sexy, somehow. Steve tapped his fingers against Bucky's hand and sang along softly to the Journey song playing in on the radio.

Losing contact with Steve when they got to Steve's house left Bucky feeling suddenly unmoored. He followed Steve inside, waiting while Steve flicked on a lamp in the living room. "Come here," Steve said, flopping down on the couch.

Bucky slid toward the couch and sat on the edge of the cushion near Steve's feet. Now that he had the opportunity to molest Steve, he felt suddenly shy.

Maybe it was the house. The room had few decorations. Everything was neat and organized, like a showroom at a furniture store. Everything was so quiet, too. Bucky was used to the sounds of traffic outside his open windows, but here there were only crickets.

"Come _here_." Steve sat up and pulled Bucky down on top of him in an awkward jumble. Bucky laughed a little. He swallowed and tried to get himself more comfortable.

Steve reached up and pushed Bucky's hair behind his ear. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Bucky said quickly.

He expected Steve to kiss him. Instead, Steve pulled Bucky's head down onto his chest and held it there, stroking Bucky's hair. Bucky tried to figure out what his own problem was. He struggled to relax. Steve's fingers in his hair felt good. It made him sleepy.

"Your hair smells like dog," Steve whispered.

Bucky laughed a little. The smile quickly faded. With the sound of Steve's heartbeat in his ear, he asked, "Why did you tell Sam about me?"

Steve's heartbeat bumped up a little. "I'm sorry, I know you told me that stuff in confidence, but—"

"Yeah. I did." Bucky heard how sharp his own voice was and winced.

"I know you did. I'm sorry." His fingers continued to comb through Bucky's hair. Bucky wanted to get up, because he felt like if he stayed this way he would accept whatever apology Steve offered him. But the hair combing calmed him. "I guess I told Sam because... I don't know how to deal with something like that. I wanted to help you and I didn't know how, and Sam helps people all the time. I'm sorry. I should have... asked you first."

Bucky didn't know what to say. He had known Steve didn't do it to hurt his feelings. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. Probably he had just ruined the whole night. He remembered the lust he'd felt for Steve back in the restaurant, less than five minutes ago in the car, and now... he just wanted to cry.

"Are you mad at me?" Steve asked softly.

It took him a long time to answer. He swallowed and managed to croak out, "No."

Steve released a breath that made Bucky's head sink down. "Thank god. I thought I had fucked this up already."

But despite Steve's apologies, and not being mad, hot tears spilled from Bucky's eyes.

"You're the only person I ever told," he said, his voice breaking. He wished he could stop crying around Steve.

"I'm the only person? Seriously?" Steve stopped stroking Bucky's hair, and Bucky missed it immediately. "You're saying Natasha doesn't know any of that? Or Clint, or any of your other friends?"

Bucky reached up and wiped his nose with his sleeve. "Natasha knows. She was there when it happened... she was visiting me in the hospital when my stepdad told me... I never had to tell her. And... I think she told Clint and the rest of them parts of it. Because they're not really _my_ friends. They're hers."

"That's fucked up," Steve whispered into Bucky's hair, and thankfully, he started running his fingers through it again. "I just... I don't even know what to say. I'm sorry. I guess I'll say that a few hundred more times."

Closing his eyes, Bucky let himself relax, the weight of carrying around how betrayed he had felt gone.

"You've only been my boyfriend for a few days and already I'm screwing this up." Steve sounded disgusted with himself.

"I'm not mad at you," Bucky insisted.

Steve sighed. "I'm just not good at relationship stuff," he said. "I'm used to guys that come around and we fuck and then we go our separate ways. All of the dates I've been on have been first dates until you."

Bucky lifted his head, rested his chin on Steve's chest so he could look up at Steve's face. Steve stared off at the wall. "I'm not great at any of this stuff either," Bucky said. "I'm not mad at you, really. Probably I shouldn't have dumped all that stuff on you so soon... I just felt like I could trust you."

"And I proved you wrong." Steve's jaw was tight.

"You didn't, though. I mean, it isn't like you told someone just to gossip. You told Sam because you were worried about me." Bucky slid his hand down Steve's chest and around his middle and squeezed. "I – I probably should have realized a long time ago that I need help. I just didn't know how to get it."

Steve sighed again and looked at Bucky with eyes the color of rain. "I still feel like a shit boyfriend."

Bucky squeezed Steve again, wiping the last of his tears on Steve's shirt. "Better than the boyfriend who cries all the time."

"You don't cry _all_ the time." Steve ran his fingers along Bucky's jaw. "Sometimes you moan and pant, too."

Grinning, Bucky crawled up Steve's chest until they were face to face. "So do you."

Steve smirked. "Prove it."

Bucky had no problem spending the rest of the evening doing just that.

28

The New Horizons Counseling Center was a squat, gray building next to the Welfare department, the sort of nondescript place that Bucky had passed every day walking to the animal shelter and never noticed. Now he adjusted his backpack and walked inside.

The lady on the phone had told him the group met in something called the Sunrise Room. Given that the building was basically a hallway with rooms on either side, and most of the doors were closed except one, he figured that was it.

He avoided eye contact with the two people chatting outside the door and peeked inside. Chairs had been arranged in a circle in the middle of a large meeting room. More people stood around inside. Slipping inside, he tried to get his bearings. Two metal coffee dispensers, one marked "regular" and one marked "decaf," stood on a table beside a few plates of stale-looking baked goods. Bucky didn't especially want any coffee, but he took a Styrofoam cup anyway and filled it, just to have something to do.

Bad idea. The coffee made it obvious that his hands were shaking.

He turned to set it down when he saw a familiar head of wavy black hair. _No. Fuck._ There was no mistaking the slightly hunched shoulders. _Shit._ He must have walked into the Anger Management group by mistake _. Gotta get out of here._

"Is this your first meeting?" chirped a voice behind him.

Bucky swung around to find a brunette with glasses and a slouchy knit cap smiling at him. "Uh, yeah... I'm not sure I'm in the right place," he said, glancing at Bruce. It was definitely Bruce. He ducked his head. "Uh, I'm looking for the Survivors of Abuse group?"

"This is it!" She thrust a hand at him. "I'm Darcy."

"Hi," Bucky said. _What the fuck is Bruce doing here?_ "I'm... My name is James but everyone calls me Bucky. You're sure I'm in the right place?"

"Yeah, definitely. I'm one of the moderators," Darcy said. "Listen, it's okay. Everyone's nervous their first time. Come on. You can sit next to the other new guy."

 _No. Fuck no._

In slow motion, Bruce turned his head and saw them. Bucky saw Bruce stiffen.

"Hey, everyone, we're going to get started," called a man's voice with a slight accent.

"Come on." Darcy pulled him to the circle of chairs. Bucky watched Bruce drift to the other side of the circle. Darcy pushed him down into the seat beside her. "Don't worry. You'll be fine."

The other moderator, an older man, introduced himself as Erik and reiterated the rules of the group. "Anything said in this room is confidential. We respect each other and each other's stories. Everyone here has been abused in some way, so we don't ever say to each other, 'You don't know how I feel.' Abuse may come in different forms: physical, sexual, emotional, neglect. We are all survivors here. This group is for processing emotions and feelings that come with past abuse. If any of you are currently in an abusive situation, please, come talk to Darcy or me after the group, or call the hotline."

Erik sat up and looked around, zeroed in on Bucky. Bucky's heart sped up to where he could hear the blood rush in his ears.

 _Fuck. Why did I come here, again?_

"We'll now go around the circle and do our check-in. Please give your first name only, and if you feel comfortable, I'd like you to also tell the group about a time in the last week when you struggled with your self-confidence because of past abuse."

Erik looked to his left. The woman sitting there smiled and told everyone her name and then said something about cooking dinner and worrying that no one would like it because of how her ex-husband treated her.

The next guy, sitting two people away from Bucky – he figured Darcy didn't count – looked to be still a teenager, and he talked about not showing his stepdad a test he had failed.

Bucky barely heard the next person. What the hell was he going to say? If he wrote out a list every time he struggled with self-confidence in the past week, it would be like a scroll that hit the floor and continued unrolling across the room.

Then Darcy spoke. "Hi everyone, I'm Darcy. You all know, I'm usually pretty self-confident, but!" She held up a finger, and a couple of people laughed a little. "A couple of days ago I was at the grocery store and I heard someone who sounded just like my mom. Not her voice, but her tone, you know? She was yelling at her daughter. Part of me wanted to hide behind the watermelon display until she left. And part of me felt like somehow I had done something wrong, even though she wasn't even yelling at me. And it took me until I heard the little girl start to cry before I could make myself walk up to that bitch and tell her to shut up. Which probably wasn't a good idea, in retrospect. I probably should have called Child Protective Services." Darcy sighed.

"Thank you, Darcy," Erik said, as he had thanked each person who had gone before.

Now the heads turned to Bucky.

"I... um. My name is Bucky," he said. "I... um..." He thought about standing outside his parents' house, afraid to go talk to his own mother. He thought about how little confidence he had at work, because his stepfather thought he was a failure. He thought about the past seven years and how he hadn't been able to really move on from the accident. "I... would like to pass?"

Erik nodded. "Thank you for coming, Bucky. I commend you on finding the courage to come to your first meeting."

Despite knowing Erik was probably required to say that, he felt encouraged. It _had_ been hard to convince himself to come here. He almost wished he had been able to show more courage by sharing something.

The stories continued around the small circle, and Bucky found himself listening to others who had been abused by parents, grandparents, foster parents, boyfriends and girlfriends, significant others. Then it was Bruce's turn.

He had his elbows on his knees and glanced up at Bucky across the circle before looking at the floor. "Hi, everyone, I'm Bruce. I've been going to Anger Management group for a while now, and last week the moderator suggested I come here. I've been struggling about whether to tell my girlfriend about the stuff my father did to me. I thought if I didn't tell anyone, no one would ever know. But... more and more... I find myself getting angry, and I worry that I'm going to turn out just like him. I want to tell her... instead I'm telling a bunch of strangers."

"It's a good first step," Erik said. "Thank you for sharing, Bruce."

As the next person began to speak, Bucky's mind stuck on what Bruce had said. He was afraid of telling people, too. Bruce's sudden departure made sense now. He thought he had hurt Natasha, so he had left to avoid hurting her further. Maybe Bruce had even realized how much he had sounded like his own father when he got in Bucky's face that night.

Once check-ins were finished, Erik opened up the floor to anyone who wished to speak further. By the end, Bucky wanted to talk, but still hadn't raised his hand. There was always next week, he told himself. It helped to know that he wasn't the only person who had ever been hit by their father.

He wasn't sure if he should say something to Bruce. Even just, "Hi." But when he looked around Bruce was gone. Before Darcy could approach him again, he slipped out too.

Then he saw Bruce walked ahead of him, heading to his car.

Bucky jogged a few steps and said, "Hey, Bruce."

Bruce whirled around. The look on his face brought Bucky up short.

"Sorry." Bucky held up his hands. "I just wanted to say hi. Thought I'd try to make this less awkward."

Bruce worked his jaw, then looked down at the keys he was holding. "And I'm not helping. Sorry, I suppose the rules of the group apply outside the counseling center, too." He glanced up at Bucky. "I'm not trying to be a dick, really. I always feel like a raw nerve when I come out of these meetings, you know?"

"It's only my first meeting," Bucky mumbled.

Bruce nodded. "This meeting was a lot different than the other group. Anger Management." He laughed mirthlessly. "Let's stick a bunch of pissed off people in a room and see how that goes. Actually, it isn't that bad. It's helpful to know there are other people out there dealing with the same shit."

"Yeah," Bucky said. "I mean, I'll probably get that raw nerve thing when I actually share something. I feel like such a loser that I couldn't even talk about my problems."

"No way, man," Bruce told him. "I didn't say anything the first few times I went to the anger group. They broke me in a little, I guess. Made me realize that I wasn't going to get the full effect until I shared. It's scary, but you'll get it next time."

"Thanks." Bucky didn't think he'd ever had a conversation this civil with Bruce in the entire six months he had been dating Natasha. "At the end I really felt like I wanted to."

"Cool. I guess... I'll see you next week then?"

"Yeah. Definitely." Bucky turned to go.

"And... you won't tell Nat about this, right?"

Bucky stopped and looked back. "No way. It's all confidential, right?"

"Yeah. Good." Bruce looked relieved. He opened his car door. "See you."

29

On Friday, Steve wanted to go to a club.

"But I'm dog-sitting for Clint," Bucky said into the phone. He was on his way to Clint's right then. "We'll have his place all to ourselves." Bucky was craving some alone time with Steve. They had barely seen each other all week, since Steve started his new job.

"It's my friend Gabe's birthday," Steve said. "He wants to go out. Did I mention it's a gay club?"

Bucky still wasn't sure.

"Come on. It's a gay club. We can dance and make out in public."

Still not alone time, but Bucky reluctantly agreed. "I have to feed Lucky first, at least."

"Yeah, that's cool, the festivities won't start until at least nine. We can have dinner, pre-game it... I think I remember where Clint lives. I'll meet you."

"I don't have anything to wear," Bucky said, still not thrilled at the prospect.

"Don't worry about it. I'll see you soon."

Letting himself in, he flipped on a light and found Lucky hobbling toward him, tail wagging. "Hey, buddy. How's that leg?"

Clint's apartment looked no better than it had the week before, but Lucky appeared to be clean and well-cared for, so Bucky poured him some dog food and set down his heavy backpack. He had packed only what he would need for the weekend: a couple of shirts and changes of underwear and socks, his toothbrush, his Walkman, a book about bulldogs, and his cell phone charger. Neither of his shirts were anything he could wear to a club. He had been looking forward to hanging out with Steve alone.

Given the empty state of Clint's fridge, he was thankful for the rich smell of food coming from the bags in Steve's hands when he arrived. Steve dropped a duffel bag by the door and unloaded the takeout bag onto the counter. "Got us some Italian. Chicken parm. Is that okay? I can go back out."

Bucky stood at Steve's elbow, close enough to touch. "It's perfect... as long as you have some paper plates. Clint has forks, but no plates." He didn't mention that he'd found several plates shattered on the floor in the bedroom. They looked like they had been used as frisbees, or for target practice.

"Shit. No."

"No problem." Bucky sat down on one of the bar stools at the counter and opened the container. "We can share."

Steve laughed and sat down next to Bucky. "I also got us some beer." He cracked one open and passed it over, then took one for himself. Bucky twined his legs around Steve's barstool and pulled him closer so they could clink their bottles together.

"So how was work today?" Bucky asked. He always asked, even though he didn't want to know. But he needed to know.

"There's so much to learn." Steve sighed, spinning his fork around some noodles. "I feel like I should have gone to college for marketing or something." Bucky knew Steve had spent most of his nights this week trying to figure out how to work PowerPoint. Anytime Bucky had called him, he had seemed distracted and their conversations had been short. "I feel totally out of my league."

"You'll get the hang of it. Hold still." Bucky brushed sauce from the corner of Steve's mouth.

"I've really gotten used to not working... I missed coming down to the shelter to visit you," Steve said, looking up at Bucky. "You got a little something there." He reached up and wiped a speck of sauce from Bucky's cheek.

Soon Steve was licking sauce off Bucky's face and dinner was forgotten for a while. Once Bucky had completely wrapped his legs around Steve and was grinding his crotch against Steve's hips, Steve picked him up by the ass and carried him into the living room. Bucky never had to stop sucking on Steve's neck.

"We can do this all night," Bucky breathed into Steve's ear as Steve collapsed onto the couch. "I want you to fuck me. All night."

"Fuck." Steve exhaled, then sat up and pushed Bucky away. "Okay, we need to cool it down."

"What? Why?" Bucky was breathing hard, physically hurting with his desire for Steve.

"Because we're going out tonight," Steve said. "We can save that for later. It'll be better."

"Why?" Bucky put a hand on Steve's thigh and lowered himself until he was between Steve's legs. "Come on. We can do it now, and do it later." He ran his hands up and down Steve's thighs.

"I get tired after," Steve whined. "And I really want to go out tonight." He looked down at Bucky, who was practically begging. He sighed. Leaning down, he kissed Bucky open-mouthed, hard, his tongue invading, his hands locking Bucky's head in place. Bucky moved his hands toward Steve's groin and traced the outline of his dick lightly through his jeans. This only made Steve's kiss more forceful, until he finally broke it off and said, "Come on," in a shaky gasp. He pushed Bucky's hands away, held onto them so Bucky couldn't tempt him again. "It'll be better later. I promise." He looked at Bucky like he was being tortured. "Fuck, I like seeing you between my legs."

Bucky bit his lip and smiled.

"No," Steve said. "Get up. Come on. We're going to the club. I'm going to grind all over you, and then we're going to come back here and fuck like bunnies. Let's go."

Reluctantly Bucky allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and dressed in a nearly-transparent purple t-shirt with a v-neck so deep it displayed Bucky's chest hair. "This is yours?" Bucky asked, staring at himself in the mirror.

"It was in my closet," Steve said lightly.

Bucky knew what that meant. It had belonged to somebody Steve hooked up with. He went to pull his flannel on over the see-through shirt.

"Nope. No way." Steve grabbed the sleeve before Bucky could get it on all the way.

"But... just to wear before we get there," he protested.

"Then what? You'll tie it around your waist?"

"I'll leave it in the car."

"Nope." Steve threw the flannel on the bed. Bucky stared at it forlornly. _Sorry, old friend._ "Now..." Steve looked at Bucky appraisingly, tapping a finger against his chin. Without another word, he lifted the dog tags from around his own neck, where they had hidden beneath his t-shirt, and placed them over Bucky's head. No chance of the v-neck holding in dog tags. Bucky held one up and read the raised writing. Steven Rogers.

"Now you're mine," Steve said, pressing his whole body up against Bucky's. "All mine."

 _God, can't we just fuck now?_ Bucky wanted to say, but Steve was biting Bucky's lip. Bucky wondered if he should just go in the bathroom and jerk off before they went out. His balls ached. Any more of this aggressive making out and Bucky was going to come in his pants. His one pair of pants for the weekend.

"Okay." Steve released Bucky abruptly, turned him, and slapped him on the ass. "Now go do your hair. I have to change, too."

Bucky didn't see anything wrong with Steve's tight t-shirt and jeans, and he didn't see what he needed to do to his hair. In the bathroom he stared. Did Steve think it looked bad loose like this? Maybe he wanted Bucky to pull it back, like he had on their first date. He put it up. Yeah, he supposed that looked better, although it revealed the scar on his neck, a pale worm of raised skin. Then he was staring at his bare arm.

 _It'll be dark in the club. No one will see. And Steve clearly doesn't mind what my arm looks like._

Later, he would make Steve run his fingers through his loose hair again. He smirked down at the sink. Fuck, he wasn't going to last until nine at this rate.

Steve's clubbing outfit was a crisp dark blue button-down shirt that, like his t-shirts, was far too tight. He wore the same low-slung jeans and shoes that looked expensive. "Fuck me," he murmured.

Steve grinned and slid into the bathroom alongside Bucky, unscrewing a jar of hair gel. Bucky watched him, only pausing the building eroticism of Steve doing his hair to glance down at his own shoes. The duct-taped boots were all he had.

 _It'll be dark in the club. No one will see._

Then back to Steve and his hair. They made eye contact in the mirror and while Steve had his hands up Bucky stole the opportunity to grab his ass and push his hips up against the edge of the sink. "Oh, we are going to have fun later," Steve growled with a smirk.

Bucky laughed a little and pressed his face and chest up against Steve's back. He still wasn't excited about going out. He'd rather stay in, get comfortable with Steve. Probably he had met this guy Gabe at Steve's party last weekend and didn't remember him. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve's waist. Probably Steve had fucked this guy Gabe at some point.

"All right, let's go," Steve said. Bucky released him and they headed for the kitchen. "Hey, do you think Clint has any hard stuff? We could do a shot before we go."

"We're taking a taxi, right?" Bucky asked.

Steve halted in his search through the cabinets. "I... wasn't planning on it."

"I mean... if we're already drinking, and we're going to drink more at the club..."

"You make it sound like I'm an alcoholic," Steve complained, returning to the cabinets. "Ah, here we go." The bottle of Captain Morgan was half gone. Steve shook it and looked around. "I don't suppose Clint would have any shot glasses."

"Probably not," Bucky said quietly.

"Come on! We're going to go out. It's gonna be fun." Steve unscrewed the cap and took a swig, winced as it went down. "Don't look at me like that. Come on. Have a drink."

Bucky accepted the bottle and stared down into it. Maybe he was being overly anxious about nothing. Alcohol would surely help that. Right? Bucky tilted the bottle back and swallowed once, twice.

"Save some for me!" Steve pulled the bottle from Bucky's mouth, took another swig, then mashed his mouth against Bucky's. "I wish you'd get excited already. Doesn't this excite you?" He ground his hips against Bucky's. Bucky laughed a little. "Come on. I want to show off my hot boyfriend. Get the other guys off my back."

Steve grabbed his car keys and pulled Bucky along by the hand. "Couldn't we just... what do you mean, off your back?"

"Forget I said that," Steve said. He waited for Bucky to find the keys to Clint's apartment, put his money in his pocket, and say good-bye to Lucky. "I'm just saying, it'll be nice not to get hit on all night. Because I'll have you there."

Once they hit the street, and Steve headed for his car, Bucky couldn't help but ask again. "Can we take a cab? Please?"

Steve laid his hands on Bucky's shoulders and gently leaned him up against the car. "How about this." He pushed the loose strands of Bucky's hair from his face and kissed him softly. "I'm not drunk yet. I can drive us there. And if I'm too drunk when we go to leave, we'll take a cab, okay?"

Bucky hooked his fingers into Steve's belt loops. Couldn't they just make out on the street all night? The bulge in his pants didn't give a shit where they were. Steve kissed him again, and he parted his lips so their tongues could touch. Bucky's head already reeled from the alcohol, and it seemed like a lot of time passed before Steve finally pulled away, leaving Bucky's mouth open and swollen and wanting.

"Okay? I don't want to leave my car in this neighborhood. It's kinda sketchy. Okay?"

"Okay." Bucky stole another kiss before Steve detached himself, laughing.

Once in the car, Bucky put on his seatbelt and closed his eyes. The club wasn't that far. Only a few minutes. Steve wasn't that drunk. He tried to focus on the way Steve's lips felt, the way he tasted. He tried to ignore the twisting in his gut and the way he couldn't make his hands stop gripping the seatbelt strap across his chest. He couldn't open his eyes. The anxiety and lust flooded his bloodstream until his heartbeat reached a crescendo and he struggled just to breathe.

Finally the car stopped, and Steve announced, "We're here."

Bucky sucked in a few deep breaths and opened his eyes. They had parked on the street, which teemed with nightlife. All the clubs and bars along this strip had crowds of people outside or queued up at the doors. He felt Steve's hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry. We'll definitely take a cab home, okay?"

Turning his head, Bucky focused on Steve. Steve had that wrinkle between his eyebrows. He opened his mouth to respond, but couldn't think of what to say and closed it again. Reaching over, Steve unclicked Bucky's seatbelt, and gently pried his fingers loose.

"S-sorry," Bucky said. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and suddenly felt the way the thin t-shirt clung to his chest and back. "I just got... I got nervous." He gasped for air, then reached for the door handle.

Before he could get all the way out, Steve had exited the vehicle and was there by Bucky's door to help him out. "Fuck. I'm sorry," Steve said, steadying Bucky as he got out. "I didn't meant to freak you out. Here. Just breathe. Relax." Steve arms held him up against the car. His breath touched Bucky's ear. "We're okay, Buck. We're fine. Okay?"

The cool evening air cleared his head a bit. That, and the solid ground beneath his feet.

"I'm sorry," Bucky said again. "I'm okay now, I think." He stood up on his own and wiped the sweat off his face.

"Are you sure?" Steve snaked his arm around Bucky's waist and kissed his temple, added a little of that hair-combing action Bucky liked. "I mean, seriously. You're sure?"

Bucky took a deep breath and tried to smile. "Yeah. Let's do this."

There was nothing to worry about now. They would take a cab home. Everything would be fine.

30

Pulled along in Steve's wake, Bucky kept his head down. The flashing lights, the crowds of people, all of it pushed up against him. He had to focus on Steve. Just Steve.

He heard more than saw when Steve found his group of friends, who had claimed a corner table. Then he finally looked up and allowed himself to take any of it in. Steve's friends had all ditched their khakis and polo shirts and now looked like the Village People. There was a lot of mesh. It made Bucky feel better about his shirt, which wasn't totally transparent.

"Gabe! Happy birthday, man!" Steve called out. There was hugging. Bucky recognized a couple of faces but no names to go along with them.

"Bucky, right?" yelled one of the guys over the music, the one Steve had called Gabe. His white mesh shirt stood out stark against his dark skin. "We met at the cookout!"

Bucky didn't remember this guy at all. "Yeah!" he said, and accepted Gabe's enthusiastic hug.

"Back off, he's mine!" Steve laughed. Hooking his arm around Bucky's neck, Steve grabbed the closest bottle on the table, which held enough bottles and glasses to make Bucky wonder exactly how long these guys had been here. Bucky watched Steve's Adam apple move up and down as he drank, the club lights and heavy bass making it more fascinating than it otherwise might have been.

"You want some?" Steve thrust the bottle at Bucky.

He pushed it away. "I'm good." He put his arm around Steve's waist. Mostly to hold himself up. He didn't quite feel normal yet.

Steve squeezed into the booth and pulled Bucky in beside him. Then he started talking to the guy on the other side of him, and even though Bucky could see both men were yelling to make themselves heard over the music, Bucky couldn't hear anything they said.

He looked out at the dance floor. He'd never been to a gay club before. He hadn't been to a regular club since he was a teenager, but he didn't remember anything like this. Bodies packed together, sweating and gyrating. The music behind the bass beat was nearly undiscernible.

Noticing that Bucky had zoned out, Steve tugged Bucky's leg and pulled it over his own. He rested his hand on Bucky's knee and squeezed lightly as he turned to continue his conversation.

Hips cocked at a strange angle, Bucky once again used Steve to help him stay upright by his arm around Steve's waist. Steve kept his hand on Bucky's knee long enough for Bucky to start to wonder why, then Steve's hand began to slide down.

Bucky glanced around the table. No one was paying attention, really, except one guy with a thin mustache sitting across the table. Mustache guy kept glancing over, looking Bucky up and down, and looking away with clear disgust on his face. Bucky thought he remembered this particular friend of Steve's from the cookout. He had been one of the guys constantly grabbing Steve's ass. After sending the guy a glare, Bucky pressed his face into the back of Steve's shoulder. Steve's hand inched closer to Bucky's dick. Stopped a few inches away. Squeezed. _Fuck._ Started to creep again.

The mustache guy gave Bucky another dirty look, and finally Bucky had had enough. He tugged at Steve's waist. "Let's go dance," he yelled into Steve's ear.

The edge of Steve's pinky hit home, and Steve looked at Bucky over his shoulder with a smirk, then massaged Bucky's thigh.

"Come on," Bucky pleaded.

Steve laughed. He turned back to his friends. "We're gonna dance!"

"Shots first!" The sandy-haired guy Steve had been talking to gestured over a waiter who was shirtless under his suspenders and carried a tray of brightly colored test tubes.

"Shots!" echoed Gabe across the table. They each grabbed one, even Bucky. "Hoo-rah!" Steve and everyone else yelled before downing their shots. Bucky tossed his back. Whatever it was, it burned even worse than the rum. He had to put the back of his hand over his mouth so he wouldn't gag. "Now let's dance!"

Steve's sweaty hand pulled Bucky down to the dance floor. Once there, he turned and put Bucky's arms around his neck and yanked their hips together.

Bucky had never been much of a dancer. Steve seemed to know what he was doing, if "dancing" could be interpreted as grinding dicks together while grabbing ass. It seemed to be what everyone else was doing - unless you counted Gabe, who had some serious moves - so Bucky rolled with it.

Down on the dance floor, strobe lights pulsed so he could see slivers of Steve's face, the expression shifting between smiling and smirking and lusting, and all he could hear was the music pounding in his ears. Everything else faded into the background, into black, until it was like he and Steve were alone, the heat gathering in his pelvis, Steve's tongue licking his lips, Bucky licking Steve's lips, sucking on them, biting on them, noses mashed into cheeks, Steve's hands gripping Bucky's ass, moving his hips up and down, dick swollen in his pants, Steve's cock hard against it, grinding, shirt clinging to his back and chest.

The tempo changed slightly, became slower, and Steve moved his hands up Bucky's back, clawing with his fingers. So Bucky started to move his hand down, his good hand, digging his nails through Steve's shirt, teasing his nipple when he came to it. Steve bit his lip and rocked his bulge into Bucky's groin.

Bucky's fingers bumped over Steve's abs - _Christ, he's a fucking washboard_ \- shied away just before hitting the waistband. He hooked onto Steve's belt and jerked him closer - as if they could get any closer. He inserted one finger below the waistband, slid it around to Steve's back.

No, they _could_ get closer. Bucky lifted his leg up, allowing Steve to shove his leg into the space, and then Bucky could ride on Steve's hips while he slipped his hand into Steve's back pocket. Or, attempted to slip it in - Steve's jeans were damp with sweat, as was Bucky's hand. The friction was driving him crazy. He felt hot and horny and wanted nothing more than to rip Steve's clothes off.

With glazed eyes over Steve's shoulder, he took in the people around him, writhing and bumping, and it seemed nothing was off-limits. Hook-ups were happening right now on the dance floor. So Bucky figured it wouldn't matter if he licked the sweat from Steve's neck, buried his face under the collar of that blue shirt and sucked Steve's skin until it bruised.

He only stopped when he realized someone was grinding up against his ass.

Whoever it was had snaked their hands around his waist to grab Steve's hips, sandwiching Bucky between them. Whoever it was had a definite boner. Every time the mystery person's junk slammed into Bucky's ass, Bucky's junk slammed into Steve's.

In his ear, Steve yelled something. It sounded a bit like, "Back off" but could have been "Fuck yeah."

The stranger was undeterred. Bucky felt hands crawl up and grab his chest, where the dog tags clinked. The grinding was starting to become more than Bucky could handle.

The guy behind him shouted something about a shirt, and then the hands were pulling Bucky away from Steve.

His bad arm couldn't keep its hold around Steve's neck. He flew away from Steve, stumbling backwards and sideways and hitting someone behind him. Several pairs of hands steadied him. "Hey, man!" yelled Gabe, pushing forward.

It was the guy with the mustache. The noise in the club made it hard to hear everything, but the guy was hollering something about "My fucking shirt!" and Steve was pushing him and yelling, "Don't fucking touch him!"

Mustache guy wouldn't stop. He made a move for Bucky and Steve hauled him back by the shirt collar. "I said, don't touch him!" Steve roared.

"Pinky!" Gabe yelled. "Knock it off!"

Spinning back around, Pinky – _what kind of name was that?_ – clawed at Steve's shirt, latching on and not letting go. "Get off, you fucking psycho!" That was Steve. "Take a fucking hint already!"

Gabe and another guy who looked Asian moved forward, but before they could get there Steve had clocked Pinky in the jaw. Pinky staggered away into Gabe's arms. Two of Steve's other friends grabbed him by the arms and pulled him away.

"Fuck, man! Why you always gotta take it there, Steve?" Gabe complained. Bucky could hear him better because the music had gone down. Bucky could see a couple of bouncers headed their way.

But Pinky hadn't seen the bouncers. He looked up and, seeing that Steve was restrained, lunged at Bucky.

The wall of people kept Bucky from backing up. Before Pinky could get too close, Bucky reared back and punched him square in the nose. Beneath his knuckles he felt something crunch and blood squirted everywhere.

"Fuck!" Pinky coughed, covering his face. He reeled back then staggered forward. "Fuck you! That's my shirt, you fucking whore!"

Heat flooded to Bucky's face. He looked at Steve for a terrible moment, then reached down and peeled the stupid shirt off, wrenching his shoulder in the process. He barely felt the pain, used it as he tore the shirt over his head and flung it at Pinky's feet.

Back in the crowd someone whistled. Bucky ignored them as he shoved his way off the dance floor and out of the club.

31

The night air slapped his skin. "Woo, helloooo soldier," called an effeminate voice. Bucky crossed his arms over his chest and stomped down the street in the direction of the least amount of people.

 _Steve gave you that shirt to wear he knew who it belonged to_

 _Maybe he forgot?_

 _He never liked you he just wanted revenge on that prick_

 _That's a lot of work for revenge_

 _He knew exactly what he was doing_

 _Groping you while that asshole watched_

Finally Bucky stopped, stepped into a dark alley, and pressed his back up against the cold bricks. Terrible sobs ripped out of his chest. When he sucked in a breath, he heard the clinking of the dog tags around his neck. He tore them off, threw them on the ground.

 _He was just looking for someone he could manipulate_

Bucky stared at the dog tags laying on the ground.

 _Steve wore those while he was in Afghanistan. And you just threw them on the ground._

After snatching them up and shoving them into his pocket, he went back to shivering and crying.

"Bucky?"

 _Fuck._ He slapped the tears off his face and set his jaw.

"I saw him go that way."

"Bucky?"

The phone in Bucky's pocket rang and vibrated. He jumped and pulled it out. _Steve_. Of course.

He hit ignore, even though his cover was blown. He could hear footsteps approaching. Holding his arms tight across his chest, he stepped out of the alley and glared.

Steve was only a few feet away. He halted when he saw Bucky.

"Bucky, are you okay?" Steve caught the look on Bucky's face and stopped talking.

"What the fuck was that?" Bucky demanded.

"Look, I can explain..." He looked at Bucky with sad eyes, then began unbuttoning his shirt.

"What are you doing? Stop." Bucky stepped up and slapped Steve's hands away from the buttons. More quietly, so everyone on the street couldn't hear, he said, "Why would you do that to me?"

Steve returned to unbuttoning his shirt while Bucky could only watch, open-mouthed and growing more and more furious. Shrugging his shoulders, Steve slipped his shirt off – he had a white undershirt on – and handed it to Bucky. Bucky glanced at it, looked back at Steve's downturned face.

"No," Bucky said. "Explain first."

"You're cold. Come on."

Bucky ripped the shirt out of Steve's hands. "I don't like being used," he said, jamming his arms into the sleeves. "And I don't like being called a whore. And I need you to explain what the fuck just happened in there. Right now."

"I didn't really expect it to go down like that." Steve's shoulders, now bare, slumped. "I thought it would be subtle."

"Really? You had your new boyfriend wear your old boyfriend's shirt and thought that would subtle? That's about as fucking subtle as a wrecking ball." His face flushed anew. _God, I am so fucking stupid._

"Pinky was never my boyfriend," Steve snapped. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "We hooked up once. I was wasted, I barely remember it. He was sober. And he's been basically stalking me even since." Steve looked down and uncurled his fingers. "I needed to get the point across."

"So you just thought you'd pick up some guy and dress him and up and make him jealous, huh?"

"No! No." Steve grabbed Bucky by the shoulders, shook him. Bucky winced at the pressure on his shoulder. "How could you even think that? After everything?" He exhaled, pressing his lips together, then lifted those bright blue eyes and made eye contact. "Bucky, he _knew_ we were together. I made that very clear to him, that I was dating you and I was not interested in him. And every night he's texting me, calling me. He showed up at my job. I can't believe he fucking did that."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this was happening?"

Steve sighed, disgusted with himself, and dropped his arms. "I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing. My life has been a series of hook-ups until you. And I was afraid to tell you... because... you've got a lot of shit going on. I thought you'd be upset about it." Steve sighed again. "And some of my friends, I guess they're more like fuck friends? Some of them, most of them, don't get it. They don't think I'm even capable of being in a relationship." He glanced up at Bucky then looked away. "I guess they're right. I keep fucking everything up... and I like you, Bucky. I like you so much it scares me."

That was so close to how Bucky felt all of the time that he couldn't help but understand. "I get that I'm a mess and you didn't want to burden me, but you don't have to treat me like glass," Bucky said. "And it would be nice if you listened to me when I tell you how I feel. I have trouble sometimes talking about that stuff. Most of the time. But it doesn't mean I can't handle if you tell me how _you_ feel."

"I'm sorry," Steve said again. He looked miserable. "I fucked this whole night up."

"Stop," Bucky choked out. "You don't fuck everything up. It's better... I mean, at first I thought you were perfect and I was the fucked up one. So... it makes me feel better, a little, to know that you _aren't_ perfect. If that makes sense."

Steve laughed a little at that. "Yeah, I'm not the perfect boyfriend after all."

"But that's okay," Bucky said. He didn't know at what point he had totally forgiven Steve for everything, but he had. "Because you're _my_ boyfriend."

Steve tilted his head forward and rested his forehead against Bucky's, so Bucky couldn't not look into his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't think he'd get violent." His eyes searched Bucky's. "You okay? He didn't hurt you?"

"I'm fine," Bucky whispered, even though the knuckles of his hand hurt. He swallowed. "You could have told me about him. I would have fucked you on the dance floor to help you make him jealous if you had told me about him." Bucky closed his eyes. "I just wish we hadn't come out here tonight."

Steve crushed Bucky's head to his chest. "Then let's go home. They're not going to let me back in the club anyway."

Once in the cab and on their way, Bucky dropped his head back against the seat. His brain felt fried. Too much excitement in one night. All he wanted to do was go to sleep and pretend most of this night hadn't happened. He let his head roll to fall against Steve's shoulder and closed his eyes.

Steve's hand slid onto his thigh again.

He let it sit there, both hoping Steve wouldn't move it, and hoping he would. He felt like a strung out junkie looking for a fix. The exhaustion would go away if he just got that fix.

The cab ride was blessedly short, and soon they were up in Clint's mostly empty apartment.

"Bed or couch?" Steve asked, reaching into his duffel bag.

"I don't think the couch pulls out," Bucky said. "The bed didn't look too bad earlier." The bed had a fitted sheet on it and a rumpled coverlet. No pillows.

"Okay."

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Bucky yanked off his shoes and socks (they had holes) and started unbuckling his belt.

"Wait." Steve stood before him suddenly. "Let me."

He leaned back on his hands while Steve tugged at the buckle. By the smirk on Steve's face, Bucky knew he was tugging more than necessary. Bucky laughed. "Okay." He arched his hips up like that would help Steve out. Then lowered his hips again. "I'm too tired for this."

The shit-eating grin disappeared from Steve's face. "No, come on." His pressed his lips to Bucky's. In the two weeks or so they'd been dating, Bucky had come to know how drunk Steve kissed, but this was different. Gentle.

Just what Bucky needed.

Cradling Bucky's head, Steve laid him down on the bed and straddled him, then continued to kiss him. Steve's lips traveled softly along his jaw, down to Bucky's neck. Bucky sighed. He rested his arms around Steve's neck and stroked the short hairs there. When Steve began to nibble on Bucky's earlobe, Bucky sighed again and shifted his hips. Pulled Steve a little tighter. Tried to forget the rest of this terrible night.

Almost imperceptibly, Steve's kisses became more aggressive. Bucky felt the tug of his skin being sucked by Steve's mouth, knew there'd be a hickey tomorrow. Didn't care. He pushed his hand up around the base of Steve's skull and kneaded his hair, pulling lightly.

"Do you still want to stop?" Steve's voice murmured into his ear.

"Mmmm." Bucky rubbed his stubbly chin on Steve's shoulder. "No..."

"Good. I want to make you feel better." Steve nipped at Bucky's neck. "I want to make you feel _good_." He slid his hand between Bucky's legs and squeezed.

Bucky hummed in his throat. "Okay."

"Remember earlier?" Steve whispered, kneading Bucky through his jeans.

Bucky writhed. He wanted Steve's hand in his pants. "What earlier?"

"When you begged me to fuck you?"

The pressure on his dick helped him to remember that earlier lust. He turned his head, regarded Steve with hooded eyes, and bit his lip. He thrust his hips into Steve's hand. "Yes."

Steve gave a throaty laugh. "Good."

But instead of fucking, Steve went right back to kissing him, although he continued the over-the-pants hand job. Helpless to do much else, Bucky started kissing Steve's neck until finally their mouths met again. This time it was open mouth and tongue and hot breath and teeth. Bucky started to feel like his pants were on fire. He made a little sound in his throat, then reached down and grabbed Steve's hand. Yanked it away from his crotch and tried to shove it down his pants.

"Fuck me," Bucky said into Steve's mouth.

Steve lifted his head and laughed. "Okay."

He had never heard a sound more erotic than the clinking of his belt buckle coming undone. Steve yanked the belt out and flung it across the room. Before he could continue, Bucky reached down and unbuttoned his pants and started yanking them down, panting.

"Hey, slow down." Steve grabbed his wrists and pushed them up over Bucky's head, held them down. Bucky could have resisted, but he didn't want to. He had Steve's face close enough to kiss. His neck strained up, stole a few before Steve pulled away slightly and lay the weight of his body down on Bucky's. "Just slow down for a minute." Steve let Bucky's hands go and touched Bucky's hair, combing it lightly along his temples. Bucky swallowed and let his arms go limp. "That's better."

"I don't want to stop," Bucky said.

"I just remembered something you said, before, and I need to ask you... You ever take it up the ass before?"

Bucky blinked at the bluntness of the question. "No," he said. It felt like admitting he was a virgin. He hadn't really considered the logistics of it. He'd seen porn... obviously, real sex wasn't anything like that. A few times, Nat had stuck a finger or two up his asshole, and he had enjoyed that, but even as he thought about it he knew it was totally different. Steve's dick was way bigger than two fingers.

"That's what I thought." Steve kissed him and kept stroking his hair. "But you're so good with your mouth, I wasn't sure... If you want, you can fuck me. You know. If that's more comfortable for you." He blinked those long lashes.

"I've... never done that either." He couldn't even look at Steve now. He turned his head to the side, saw the condoms and half-used tube on the bed. It only made him feel more incompetent. "It would probably be better if you topped."

"You're sure?" Steve's lips pressed into his cheek.

"Does it... hurt?"

"Not if you do it right." He tugged that lock of hair behind Bucky's ear, dragged Bucky's attention back to him. "And I'm gonna do you right."

32

Steve began by unbuttoning each button on the blue shirt with excruciating slowness. When Steve bent his face down to kiss Bucky's chest after the first one, Bucky lay his head back and closed his eyes. With each button came a kiss. The next landed on his sternum. The slight breeze of air entering his shirt and the pressure of Steve's lips on his abs sent goosebumps rippling across his skin. His nipples hardened and each movement of the shirt over his chest teased them, made his breath come harder, his back lift off the bed.

Closer now, Steve's lips above his navel. The last button. A kiss below. His dick was rock hard and throbbing.

Steve's fingers danced back up Bucky's torso, parting the shirt. His arms wound around beneath the fabric, and lips grazed Bucky's stubbly chin. So slow, so gentle. Bucky couldn't take it. He grabbed Steve's face and dragged it up so they could kiss properly. So he could taste the cough-syrup flavor of that last shot they had taken.

Latched on like this, Steve pulled him up until they were both standing and kissing. Bucky had a good strong hold on Steve's hair now. Against his mouth Steve smiled and breathe-laughed, then Steve moved his hands down to Bucky's pants and felt for the button that was already undone.

And then, _fuck,_ Steve unzipped his fly. _Fuck,_ the pressure of the zipper against his cock. He pushed his hips into Steve even though the tiny logical part of his brain still working at the moment knew it would only make it harder for Steve. He didn't care.

Now Steve was smiling against his mouth again. Steve pulled away for the tiniest space to say, "You really like this underwear, don't you."

Bucky thought he might be able to come just by having Steve's hands on him through the silk. "I washed them, I swear," he grunted before pushing his mouth against Steve's, taking away Steve's ability to talk.

Hands at his hips, Steve pushed down. The jeans practically fell off, but the boxers came off more slowly. Now Bucky's hard-on pushed against Steve's belt buckle and the rough denim of Steve's jeans, and he stepped out of the boxers and released Steve's hair. Started bunching up Steve's undershirt at his back, hauled it off over Steve's head.

Steve's once-carefully gelled hair now stuck up at all angles. Bucky grinned and reached for Steve's belt.

"Slowly." Breath hot against his face. Hands reaching around his waist to cup his ass. "Do it slow."

How could he refuse that command? He stopped pulling at Steve's belt and leaned in. If he got any closer they would be kissing, but he didn't kiss Steve. He let his eyelashes whisper across Steve's cheek, let the tip of his nose trail across Steve's skin. Their faces pressed together, Bucky murmured, "Lay down on the bed."

Naked, he stood while Steve did as he was told, looking up at Bucky with a one-sided grin. Steve spread his legs, cocked an eyebrow, and waited.

God, he just wanted to rip those pants right off. But Steve wanted it slow and Bucky would give him what he wanted - the earlier events of the night were forgotten and lost in this moment. Now it was only the two of them, alone. And in all the times they had fooled around, Bucky had never spent time exploring Steve's body up close.

Steve wanted Bucky between his legs again, Bucky knew. The memory of earlier gave Bucky some ideas for the future, but for now he stepped around Steve's legs, which dangled off the edge of the mattress, and lay on his right side next to him. Steve lifted one arm at the elbow and brushed a strand of hair from Bucky's face. In the dim light from outside the windows, Steve's skin had a bluish tinge. Bucky closed his eyes, reached out, and touched Steve's face.

Through his fingers he felt the one-way smoothness of Steve's cheek, tracing along his jaw line. Back up again, against the grain, so it was rough against his fingers. Back down, until he rounded Steve's chin, with a little trip up to trace the lower lip. Steve nuzzled into his hand, kissed Bucky's palm, all the while still combing that little bit of Bucky's hair he could reach. Bucky smiled as his dick gave a little jump at the contact, but he kept his eyes closed.

Straight down Steve's neck, bumping over the Adam's apple, which quivered, then his touch pooled in the divot between his clavicles. He traced along the bone before dropping to the firm pectoral muscle below. The skin here was surprisingly soft. When he had first seen Steve's bare chest, he had figured he had it waxed. Smooth, like a girl's skin. He paused briefly, fingertips hovering, imagining Steve going to get it done. Of hot wax poured on Steve's chest. How Steve's face might look at it was ripped away. He sighed. Continued until his fingertips brushed Steve's nipple, actually felt it harden beneath his touch. He pressed harder against it. Steve's heartbeat pulsed against his fingers, his chest rose and fell.

So the other side wouldn't feel left out, Bucky felt his way over, bent down, and - peeking only a little - kissed the other nipple. It was so hard it felt strange against his lips, and he pushed his tongue over it, licking it and pushing it up on his teeth, working his tongue around it. Steve's breathing changed, came faster. Playing some more, he sucked on it, felt it respond in his mouth. Then he gave it a little good-bye kiss and returned to exploring, but kept his face buried against Steve's chest.

He had felt the washboard of Steve's abs back in the club. Now he could linger. Fingers skating over the hard bumps of muscle. Steve wasn't even clenching the muscles to make them harder. It was only as Bucky's hand moved further south that he felt them contract.

His fingers reached the waistband of Steve's jeans. Lightly he followed the edge around to the ridge of Steve's hip, dipped under, then returned. It was only as he headed toward the button that he realized all this time he had been using his bad hand. _Fuck, I can't do this_.

All this time, and his hand had barely trembled, despite everything that had happened tonight. He had been using his therapy ball all week, maybe it had helped.

Even though his fingers started shaking when he put pressure on them, he managed to get the button to pop out of the hole. He winced a smile to himself, his cheek pressing into Steve's chest, felt Steve's fingers in his hair. Tooth by tooth he dragged the zipper down. His hand was about done; the jerky movements had set in, and he dropped his hand against Steve's thigh. For long moments he rested, his eyes closed. He could sleep happy this way.

Steve's hands lifted his head and shoulders up until he was sitting. "Don't go to sleep just yet," Steve said, kissing him awake. "Not when you've got me excited." Steve stood up. Bucky watched him slide his jeans off, along with another pair of ridiculous boxers – these ones were bright blue camouflage that did nothing to hide Steve's erection.

"Get on your hands and knees," Steve said, picking up the lube.

Feeling himself harden in anticipation, Bucky did as he was told. As he started to crawl across the mattress, his shoulder buckled and his arm nearly gave out.

"Wait." Steve tugged Bucky's ankle. "Come back."

Had he done something wrong already? Steve met him with a kiss on the edge of the mattress. "It's okay, I just don't want to hurt your arm," Steve whispered. "Here, stand and kind of lay your chest down." Bucky did his best to comply, feeling totally vulnerable with his ass up in the air.

"Close your eyes again, okay?"

Bucky pressed his face into the sheet.

"Okay, stop that," Steve laughed. "This is going to feel good, I swear. This part of a relationship, I know what I'm doing."

He tried to laugh, but flinched when Steve touched his back. "Come on now," Steve said, his voice low and throaty. His hand, warm and smooth, massaged the base of Bucky's spine. His other hand reached around and wrapped itself around Bucky's cock, which had been wilting with all the anxiety. It sprang back to life. As Steve slid his slick hand up and down, Bucky began to feel Steve's hardness pressing against his ass. The heat of it made his asshole want to respond.

After a while, Bucky wasn't sure if Steve was going to go through with it. Not that the handjob didn't feel good – Steve had a strong grip, and whatever lube he was using gave off a tingling heat. He just hadn't expected Steve to be jerking him off. Well, it had been a long night, and Bucky turned his head and gasped for air and let himself go with it, enjoying the feel of Steve's dick against him. He heard himself start to moan.

"There we go," Steve practically purred, and then those lubed up fingers released his dick and he felt Steve touching himself, jerking himself off, bumping his tip against Bucky's ass.

Bucky sighed a plea. "I want you in me."

Without another word, Steve's wet finger slicked up Bucky's asshole. Bucky stuttered out an exhalation. The hot tingling set in almost immediately, and then Steve had a finger inside of him. Moved around. Delicious burning, that finger was so tightly jammed in there, Bucky didn't know how... _Fuck..._ how Steve was going to cram his cock in there.

Steve worked his finger in and out, around and around, and then dipped a second finger inside. "Fuck," Bucky gasped. All the sensation in his ass didn't stop the heat from gathering in his dick.

"That okay?" Steve's words came in short gasps.

"Yes," Bucky moaned into the mattress.

The hand that had kept his lower back warm now wrapped around his waist. He felt Steve nudge his feet apart and step closer, holding him by the waist. Bucky could feel the hair on Steve's arms against his dick. Steve worked his two fingers, then three, and then one of those fingers hit that magic spot inside and Bucky almost stopped breathing. Steve knew what he had found. He massaged that place until Bucky's dick hurt, it was so hard.

"Fuck me," he choked out. "Put your fucking cock in me." Steve's dick couldn't be thicker than three fingers. It couldn't. _It could_. It didn't matter to Bucky if it was. Steve needed to start fucking him now or Bucky was going to come early. He turned his face into the mattress, gripped the sheets in his fists – one fist, anyway, the left one wasn't quite working at the moment. He focused on that, trying to keep himself together as Steve withdrew his fingers and guided the tip of his cock into the slick hole.

As Steve slowly slid the length of his dick in, Bucky tried his damnedest to close the fingers of his left hand into a fist. Thicker than three fingers, for sure. _Oh god_. Bucky swallowed, focused on his fingers even as he felt his legs start to shake. Steve had a good grip, holding him up. Steve's dick slid over that spot, and Bucky nearly lost it. _Focus, Barnes_. He curled his fingers. Slowed his breathing to labored intakes.

He felt filled up in a way he had never experienced before. Like something had been missing from his life and now he had it. "Steve," he panted.

"Oh, you are so tight," Steve panted right back. He started to pull out, and Bucky let a whine escape his throat, until Steve pumped his cock right back in. With each thrust, Steve's dick scraped over that spot. Bucky found himself making soft cries in his throat each time.

He had to think of something else. He had no clue how near Steve was to coming. _Probably not even close_. Already a bead of pre-come was oozing from Bucky's dick. He sucked in a ragged breath and thought about those months when he was homeless, living in a tent on the side of the road. That particular smell of garbage that had clung to him and followed him everywhere. The smell seemed to be here in the room with him... although that could just be Clint's poor housekeeping skills.

That was good, think about how this is Clint's bed. How he was probably going to have to wash the sheets before Clint returned. Thought about the piles of laundry on the floor. _Yes_.

He kept his mind occupied until Steve began driving his hips faster, more forcefully, so that Bucky knees knocked against the side of the bed and he could barely hold himself up. He waited until Steve started wheezing slightly, moaning, muttering things like, "Fuck, your ass," and "Jesus Christ," and some incoherent thing that seemed to be a string of expletives, and then Bucky allowed himself to really feel the drag of Steve's cock on his prostate. Reached down with his good hand to stroke himself in time to Steve slamming into his asshole.

When Steve came, he pushed his dick as far in as he could go. Bucky felt the weird sensation of it bumping up against something deep inside him. For long seconds Steve exhaled against Bucky's back, both arms wrapped tight around Bucky's hips. Bucky had expected to feel something else, too, but then realized Steve had probably put on a condom at some point. He was so close to coming himself. His breath shuddering in his throat, waiting for Steve to continue. Hoping Steve _would_ continue.

And Steve did. With a few aggressive thrusts, Steve had Bucky making sharp, low-pitched gasps and then Bucky's mind disappeared for a moment, forgetting to breathe, forgetting everything but the ecstasy he felt. The pure pleasure convulsed through his body until he didn't think it was going to stop.

His legs fully collapsed, and it was a good thing he had managed to get the fingers of his left hand closed around the sheet, because that and Steve's hands were the only things holding him up. Steve gently pushed his hips onto the bed and, still lost in the aftershock, Bucky heard Steve strip off the condom and dispose of it. Then his body shifted as Steve joined him on the bed, pulled Bucky's limp body up to recline fully, then Steve lay down beside him.

"That was..." Bucky couldn't think of words.

Steve kissed the sweat from Bucky's forehead and pushed his hair out of the way. The strands hung in damp clumps. Most of it had completely fallen from the elastic at this point. Bucky was spent; already his eyes were closing.

"Yeah," Steve agreed.

33

A noise in the apartment caused Bucky's eyes to snap open. For long moments after waking, his heart raced, until he became almost certain that it was just one of those noises a strange place makes. Then he heard it again. Through the slightly open doorway Bucky could see Lucky hobble past, his tail wagging. And another noise, this time from the living room. The noise was definitely not Lucky.

Bucky slid out of bed, taking care not to wake Steve, who snored lightly. He had no idea what time it was, but the light meant it was morning. His staggered on his first two steps. _Shit, his ass had taken a pounding last night._ The pain had a good feel to it, though.

The noises came again. Walking silently, he headed for the bedroom door, only realizing a few steps before he reached it that he was naked. He snagged his boxers from the floor and pulled them on. Then eased the bedroom door open and stepped out.

A girl sat on the couch in Clint's living room, flipping through a magazine while eating cereal from a bowl. She sat with her back to Bucky. Her long dark hair was loose and messy and her pink sweatshirt drooped off her shoulder. Lucky lay in the space between the couch and coffee table with his head gazing up adoringly.

"Who the hell are you?" Bucky demanded.

The girl jumped and the bowl of cereal went flying. Lucky startled and tried to get up amidst the girl's flying feet, then gave up and lay back down, yawning. "Who the fuck are you?" the girl demanded.

She had a cute ski jump nose and bright brown eyes, but the look on her face right now screamed murder.

"I'm Bucky," he said. "I'm dog-sitting for Clint?"

"Oh." The girl exhaled. "Oh, okay. That makes sense." She picked her cereal bowl and wiped the Cheerios off the couch cushion into the bowl.

"What makes sense? Who are you? What are you doing here?" A thought crossed his mind. "Are you Clint's girlfriend or something?"

The girl's eyes lit up. "Yes! That's exactly it. I'm Kate. Kate Bishop. Clint's girlfriend."

"Clint never told me he had a girlfriend," Bucky said, regarding her suspiciously. "I mean, he's not like my best friend or anything, but I feel like he might have mentioned having a girlfriend." _Or maybe not_ , he thought. _But Nat surely would have mentioned it_.

"Okay," Kate said sarcastically. She wiped at the couch with a shirt off the floor. "Well, like you said, you're not super good friends. We've been dating for a while now. Do you always sleep in just your underwear?"

"How long's a while?"

"Long enough," she snapped. "I have a key."

"Well, didn't he tell you he was going away this weekend?"

"Oh, yeah. I totally forgot. Silly me." Kate pantomimed hitting herself in the head. "I usually come over in the mornings and I wait for him to wake up. He likes to sleep late."

It all seemed shady, but Clint had never had his life together, and Lucky seemed cool with Kate, so Bucky let it slide. "Uh, well, my boyfriend and I were sleeping in the other room. Do you mind?"

"Not at all. I'm cool with the gays." Kate smiled winningly.

"Um, okay." He stood there while Kate brought her bowl into the kitchen and fixed herself some more cereal. He wasn't exactly sure what to do. The quiet morning he had hoped for with Steve wasn't going to happen. "Hey, you sure that milk is good? I wouldn't trust anything in that fridge."

"I just bought it the other day," Kate said.

"So... why didn't Clint ask you to dog-sit?" Bucky wanted to know. He sat down on the stool at the counter and watched her.

"You're just full of questions, aren't you. What did you say your name was? I already forgot."

"Bucky."

"What kind of a name is that? Nickname? Horrible insult given to you back in sixth grade when you had buck teeth but you got braces and now... still... the name haunts you. You have become... Bucky." She laughed, then her mouth was full of Cheerios again.

Bucky sighed. "My full name is James Buchanan Barnes. Everyone calls me Bucky."

"That sucks." Kate slurped up another mouthful.

Not sure what to say about that, Bucky stood up. "Okay, well, nice to meet you. I guess you'll be taking care of Lucky the rest of the weekend?"

"Huh? Oh, um... yeah, sure."

"Okay." Bucky tried not to sound glum. It wasn't like he couldn't just spend the weekend at Steve's if he wanted alone time. But he had liked the idea of spending some time alone, by himself, too. Being alone at Nat's wasn't truly being alone. "I guess, once Steve wakes up, we'll get out of your hair."

Kate bobbed her head, milk dripping from her chin.

Bucky headed back into the bedroom, where Steve slept on. Closing the door – as much as he could, anyway, the door hung oddly off its hinges so that it couldn't close all the way – Bucky sat down on the bed and watched Steve sleep.

Steve's sleep face was so innocent. Bucky slid himself under Steve's arm and draped his arm over Steve's stomach. He didn't know how Steve slept naked all the time – unless it was too hot, Bucky liked to have a sheet over him, and underwear on, at the very least. It surprised him that he had been able to sleep without any of that last night, but then, he'd been a little drunk and very tired.

He had just managed to drift into a light sleep when Steve shifted and stretched. His hand landed on Bucky's head. "Morning," Steve murmured.

Bucky peeled his face from Steve's chest and smiled. "Good morning."

"What time is it?"

"I don't know. After eleven, I think."

Steve closed his eyes again.

"Uh, so there's this girl in the other room," Bucky started.

Steve's eyes flew open. "What?"

"This girl, I guess she's Clint's girlfriend? She let herself in. She says she forgot he wasn't going to be around."

"Oh."

"Looks like my dog-sitting assignment is over."

Steve dragged his fingers through Bucky's tangled hair. "You can stay at my place the rest of the weekend, if you want." Before Bucky could respond, Steve's eyes lit up. "You know what we could do today?"

"What?"

"Go to the beach. It's supposed to be nice weather all this weekend."

Bucky hadn't been to the beach in years. Not since high school. "Yeah, okay. That sounds fun."

"Come on." Steve started to sit up and Bucky did the same. "We can shower then pick up some towels at my place–"

"Your car," Bucky remembered. "We have to get your car first."

Steve nodded. "Okay. Shower, taxi... and breakfast."

"I don't even own a bathing suit," Bucky said.

"Then we'll stop someplace and get you one. It'll be perfect. Let's go."

Bucky grabbed his stuff and headed for the shower while Steve was still fully waking up. Clint's shower wasn't half as bad as expected, although the water only came out lukewarm and he had no idea how clean the towel on the rack was. His arm hurt. He'd have to take one of his pills before they left. Better safe than sorry. Also, he didn't know how he'd do on a long car drive. After shaving and combing out his hair, he emerged from the bathroom.

"There's no hot water," he told Steve, who was sitting at the counter in his jeans and t-shirt talking to Kate on the couch.

"Oh, you just have to use the wrench," Kate said.

Bucky had seen the wrench on the back of the toilet. "And do what with it?"

"Lift that flap of wood and bang the pipe." She said this like it was obvious.

Steve lifted his eyebrows. "I don't mind a cold shower. It's pretty warm out."

While Steve showered, Bucky cleaned up and packed his things. He stripped the sheet off Clint's bed, too, and put it in the laundry basket. Then he sat down with Lucky and checked the bandages and the cast on Lucky's front leg. He brushing out Lucky's thick yellow fur when Steve finally came out of the bathroom. Bucky called for a cab while Steve packed up his stuff and then they were waving good-bye to Kate and Lucky.

The air was crisper than the day before, but in the sun it was warm enough. When they got to Steve's car, the lone vehicle parked in the lot, Bucky had a brief flashback of the night before. _Everything will be fine_ , he told himself. _Steve is sober now._ He buckled in and tried not to white knuckle the seatbelt again. After a few minutes of Steve driving the speed limit and taking his turns slow, Bucky felt himself relax and start to anticipate a trip to the beach.

Soon enough Steve was pulling into his driveway and Bucky wandered around the living room while Steve grabbed some things from his bedroom. At some point in the last week Steve had put out a few more decorations in his living room, including a bunch of photos arranged on the mantle.

Here was a family portrait from when Steve was maybe seven or eight years old, skinny with flyaway blond hair and missing front teeth between a man who looked just like adult Steve now and a woman with kind eyes and light brown hair. Most of the photos were from Steve's army days, pictures of men dressed in camouflage in various settings. One picture, near the center of the mantle, drew Bucky's eye. Steve, kneeling in camo pants and a white t-shirt, his arms around a German shepherd. Even after he had looked at the other photos – a prom photo with a group of guy friends, Steve with Peggy and Angie on his arms in uniform, a still-skinny young teenage Steve with a dark-haired man Bucky guess was Steve's uncle – he returned to that picture of Steve with the dog.

"I think I'm ready to go," Steve said as he clomped down the stairs.

"Was this your dog?" Bucky asked, pointing to the photo.

Steve stopped. He set down the beach bag he had packed and walked over to stand beside Bucky. "Niko," Steve said, and cleared his throat. "Yeah, we had dogs with us over there. They were trained to sniff out bombs and stuff..."

Steve trailed off, and Bucky glanced over at him. His face had a far-off look that disappeared in the space of a blink. He smiled at Bucky and said, "Ready to go?"

34

The drive was less than an hour, and it was cool enough out that not many people were headed to the seacoast. They stopped off at a drive-thru for coffee and breakfast sandwiches. Until he had smelled the food, Bucky hadn't realized how hungry he was. Now full, he lay his head back.

Before they hit the narrow roads that wound along the coastline, Steve pulled off into a Target.

As they approached a large display of men's bathing suits, Bucky hoped he would be able to find that wasn't too expensive. He had some money, and he didn't want Steve to buy a suit for him.

"How about this one?" Steve had immediately found a pair that looked like his patriotic boxers.

Bucky laughed. "It would be like wearing your underwear in public."

"This is almost exactly what my bathing suit looks like."

So Bucky would be picturing Steve in his underwear all day. He browsed the brightly colored shorts, some striped, most in shades of blue, green, black, and gray. Steve held up yellow Hawaiian print shorts. "Yeah, right," Bucky laughed.

Steve disappeared among the racks again. Bucky had just picked up a pair of plain black shorts with a red stripe that were on clearance when Steve reappeared. "I found the perfect bathing suit for you," he announced.

Bucky looked up.

It was a bright red Speedo. Bucky's face turned the same color when he saw it. "No way!" he said.

Steve laughed. "I just wanted to see your face. You found one you like?"

"Yeah." He lifted up the one he had picked out.

"All right, go try it on."

"I think it will fit me," Bucky said, holding the shorts up against his waist.

"Go try them on," Steve said sternly.

So Bucky did, and of course they fit. As he stood looking at himself in the mirror in the dressing room, he realized there was another problem. When Steve wasn't waiting for him right outside, he headed into the shoe department and grabbed a pair of cheap flip-flops. He couldn't exactly wear his taped-up boots with a bathing suit.

He found Steve holding a basket with sunscreen and some sodas and snacks. "You ready?" Steve asked.

"Yeah." Bucky stepped into line and purchased his two items, grateful that Steve had zoomed into the next lane to pay for his things separately. The single twenty-dollar bill Bucky had in his wallet was now just a handful of change, but he tried not to think about that.

Once back in the car, Steve said, "Hey, I bought you something."

Bucky looked at him warily. "What is it?"

Steve passed him a Target bag. Raised his eyebrows and watched Bucky with an eager look on his face.

Plunging his hand into the bag, his fingers encountered something soft and silky. He shot Steve a curious look before pulling it out to where he could see it.

Boxer shorts. Three pairs of silky boxer shorts in different prints. One had red stars on a black background, another pair was dark red with a black waistband, and the third pair a shiny silver. Bucky sifted his hands through the fabric and realized with only slight embarrassment that he was grinning like a fool.

"I just figured," Steve said, "Since you liked those other ones so much, you should have a few more pairs."

Steve didn't need to know how badly Bucky had needed new underwear. That pair Steve had ripped off of him had been the only hole-less pair he owned. "Thanks," Bucky said. The word thanks didn't seem like enough. He pulled Steve toward him and kissed him with coffee-flavored lips. The kiss went on for several minutes of tongue and heavy breathing, until he heard the conversation of people passing behind the car. Then he jerked away, and they both laughed a little, and with another (small) kiss, Steve rubbed Bucky's thigh, and shifted the car into gear. They were off to beach, no more pit stops.

Soon they could smell the salt in the air. Bucky gazed at the way the wind ruffled Steve's hair. Steve had on those aviator glasses. If only there had been a couple dollars left over for a pair of sunglasses. Oh, well. A Led Zeppelin song came on the radio, and Bucky reached over to turn it up. He liked that Steve didn't feel the need to chatter. Then again, Steve might be just as tired from last night as Bucky. Whatever it was, it felt comfortable.

They changed in the men's room. Bucky kept on his t-shirt with the bathing suit, and his flannel shirt. The stiff new flip-flops felt weird between his toes. He hadn't been outside in anything less than boots for years. After taking a few steps, he knew he was going to have to take the sandals off as soon as they hit the sand.

The considerable wind cut through Bucky's clothes the second he stepped out of the bathroom. "Fuck, it's cold," he said when Steve emerged, indeed wearing a bathing suit that matched his boxers: half red stripes, half blue with white stars.

"There are kids," Steve said, nodding to a mom with three young ones as they headed back to the car. Bucky ducked his head as they went by, feeling chastised even though Steve hadn't said it in a harsh way. He didn't feel bad for long. "Hey, are those..." Steve lifted the chain around Bucky's neck with one finger. The dog tags clinked under Bucky's shirt.

"Yeah." He gave Steve a little smile.

"Good," Steve said. "You know, I noticed you weren't wearing them last night... after... and I worried they had fallen off..."

"Do you need them back?"

They had reached the car now, and Steve took the cover of the vehicle to sneak Bucky a kiss on his temple. "No. I'm glad you're wearing them."

Bucky dug through his duffle bag and pulled out his hoodie. After shrugging it on, he zipped it up to his neck.

"You're that cold?" Steve asked. Steve had thrown on loose white collared shirt. He looked like an ad for Hollister or something.

"It isn't exactly warm." It had been a little chilly back in the city; now, with the ocean breeze, it felt even colder. "The sun feels nice, though."

"Yeah, I guess this isn't really beach weather." Steve looked out to the sand. It was hardly crowded. When he turned back to Bucky, a smile was playing over his lips. "This just means I might get to sneak a little PDA in."

Bucky snickered and, sneaking a glance around the parking lot, gave Steve a kiss on his smooth jaw. "I like that plan."

Steve grabbed the beach bag and Bucky grabbed his book, then they headed down to the sand. If possible, it was even colder down here. He shivered while Steve laid down a plaid blanket. When he sat down, he wrapped his towel around his legs.

Steve yawned. "I'm ready for a nap already," he said. He lay back and held his arm out, beckoning for Bucky to lay against him.

There were only a few people sitting on the beach. He curled up against Steve with his book. Soon Steve's breathing had slowed. It was peaceful here, with the crash of the waves and the seagulls wheeling overhead. The flutter of pages in the wind and the sound of far-off laughter lulled Bucky into a tranquil place, despite feeling cold. He just snuggled closer to Steve, who radiated heat more than the sun seemed to be doing today.

He drifted off and dozed for a bit, but was soon awake again, and tired of reading. Sitting up, he pulled his knees to his chest, tucking the towel in tightly, and watched the other people on the beach. There was a man with two of his sons out at the jetty with fishing poles. Bucky watched the trio for a time before understanding exactly why the scene made his heart feel heavy. His own father - his real father - had never been a part of his life. All of that was hushed up by his mother, but he knew his father had left his mother when he had been about four. She had remarried by the time he was six, and his stepfather never would have taken him fishing. Or to the beach. Or anywhere. He would have hired a nanny to do that.

A bark drifted from further down the beach. Resting his cheek on his knees, he turned to watch a young teenage girl and boy playing frisbee with a dog. The dog was a German shepherd and it immediately made Bucky think of the photos at Steve's house. Niko. Maybe he'd misread Steve back at the house, but it seemed a lot like Steve didn't want to talk about that dog.

Like the memory of Niko made him sad?

Bucky wouldn't have been surprised if Niko had been killed on duty. Steve had never mentioned anything violent happening during his tours in Afghanistan - he had never really talked about his time in the army at all. He had been afraid to bring it up, afraid it would be too painful for Steve to talk about. Bucky knew about stuff like that.

He had a sudden memory of that first time he'd seen Steve at the animal shelter. Hadn't he guessed German shepherd as one of the breeds he thought Steve would want? Too bad there weren't any at the shelter.

Watching the dog playing nearby made Bucky think about Cheddar and how much he would have loved to come to the beach. Frisbee wasn't Cheddar's thing, but he had a rope chew toy he liked to play fetch with, and tennis balls were fair game. Bucky and Steve and Cheddar. It would have been a perfect day.

Closing his eyes, he thought about how perfect it could be, if he lived with Steve. The two of them, alone in that big farmhouse together. Waking up every morning to Steve cooking him breakfast in those flag boxer shorts and nothing else. Sipping lemonade on the back porch while a thunderstorm booms off on the horizon. Cheddar would have lots of space to run, because of course he'd have to adopt Cheddar. At night they would watch movies and make out, no rush, they could take their time going up to the bedroom, shedding their clothes around the house, making love long into the night. Just the thought of last night made his toes curl and his body heat up. If that could happen every night... He smiled into his elbow.

He looked down at Steve, still sleeping, his eyes drifting down to the patriotic bathing suit. Part of him wanted to wake Steve up, because he was fucking freezing, and no amount of cuddling was going to make this day any warmer. Then again, Steve looked so peaceful...

Bucky lay down on his stomach, rewrapping the towel around his legs. The kids and the dog had moved further down, and the only other people on the beach were an older couple with their chairs facing away. Bucky curled up against Steve's side, face tucked up against Steve's rib cage. He was sure that Steve was somehow cold but he himself was so cold he couldn't bear to stretch his arm across Steve's chest. Instead he made a warm pocket of air against Steve's side and breathed in the musky scent of him and sighed.

Then Steve was shaking him awake. "Mmm?" he said, cracking his eyes open. They felt itchy and tired, so he rubbed at them, peeling his cheek away from the buttons on Steve's shirt. He felt little indentations in his face.

"I tried to let you sleep," Steve said. "But it's too cold."

"What time is it?" Bucky asked, sitting up.

"Four-thirty. Want to go for a walk? Get something to eat?"

"Sure," Bucky said. He sat there for another few minutes while Steve put his flip-flops on and folded up his towel. Then he lurched to his feet, wadded up his own towel, and tried to help Steve fold up the blanket.

"Fuck it," Steve said after the wind had nearly taken it from their hands twice. He threw it over his shoulder.

Bucky grinned, and with mock-stern expression, he said, "Language."

35

They trekked back up to the parking lot and stowed their stuff, then changed back into their street clothes. "I want to live by the ocean someday," Bucky said, looking out at the water.

"I looked into beachfront property before I bought my house. It's crazy expensive."

Bucky didn't let that put a damper on his imagination. "Every morning you could wake up and have coffee on your porch and look out at this."

"It would be nice." The words came from close to Bucky's ear, and then Steve's arms wrapped around his waist from behind. Steve rested his chin on Bucky's shoulder. "Except in the summer. When there would be people everywhere and traffic."

"I still think it would be nice," Bucky said stubbornly.

Steve dropped a kiss on Bucky's neck. "Let's get some food."

The windy day had scared most people away from the beach, so Bucky and Steve took the opportunity to hold hands as they walked toward the shops and restaurants along the boardwalk. Bucky recalled summers spent playing at the arcade and eating ice cream as it melted. Now it all looked a little sad and deserted.

They ended up at a seafood restaurant, where Bucky longed to order lobster. He stared at the menu, knowing he didn't have any money to even offer to pay for half. After hunting for the cheapest meal, he asked Steve, "What are you getting?"

"Chilean Sea Bass," Steve said decisively, refolding his menu. Bucky checked the price on that. The lobster dinner was only a dollar more. "What are you thinking?"

"Um... I really like lobster," Bucky said, then added lamely, "but the haddock looks good too."

"Haddock versus lobster? Go with the lobster," Steve said. "You can get haddock anywhere."

Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"I wouldn't have pegged for someone who'd like lobster. Actually, now that you mentioned it... I think I'll get the lobster too. There's a platter for two, we could share."

While he was glad Steve was going to indulge with him, he had to ask. "What about me says I don't like lobster?"

Steve shrugged. "I don't know, maybe because you live off ramen noodles?"

Bucky glared at the menu. It was because he was poor, he knew that was what Steve meant. "I wasn't always poor, you know." As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn't.

"I didn't say you were," Steve said, sounding surprised. Bucky couldn't even look at him. "Hey." He touched Bucky's arm. "Hey, I'm sorry if you thought that was what I meant."

Of course the waitress came over just then and Bucky sat in silence while Steve ordered for the two of them. He wasn't even hungry anymore. His stomach was a writhing pit.

After the waitress left, that was when the silence got really awkward. "I didn't always used to be a fucking charity case," Bucky said, then he had to dig his fingers into his eyes so he wouldn't start crying. In public. _What the fuck is wrong with you?_

He felt Steve's hand on his arm again, running along his bicep up to his shoulder and back down again. Comforting him. "What was it like when you were growing up?" Steve asked quietly.

Bucky sniffed and blinked hard. "My family had – has – a lot of money," he said, his voice wet. "We had servants, a cook, a gardener, a housekeeper. I had a nanny. You'd think with all that money I would have been in some private school... Before my mom remarried, we had money but not, like, wealth, you know? And I had already started at the public school, I liked my friends, and the nearest private school would mean I'd have to live there, and my mom didn't want that. Of course, when I started getting into trouble I ended up at boarding school."

"The military school, right?"

"Yeah. All of us there were fuckups from rich families. Even there we had shit like lobster for dinner." Bucky wiped his nose on his sleeve and looked around. He felt naked, like everyone in the place could see he was upset.

Steve studied Bucky for a moment. "And then your parents kicked you out."

"Yup. No more credit card, not for long, anyway. No more allowance. No more nothing."

"This is gonna sound... like I'm being a bit chipper about things, cavalier, or whatever, but things are on the upswing now, right? I mean, you have a job, a place to live..." Steve nudged Bucky's under the table. "A hot boyfriend." Steve smiled. "So things are looking up, right? And you didn't need your parents' money to do it."

The more he thought about it, the better he felt. "Yeah," he said. "I guess I did do it pretty much on my own. I mean, Natasha helped me... a lot. And there's a lot that could be better..." Bucky considered whether to tell Steve about his new part-time job at the gas station. It was only a couple nights a week - Tuesday nights, and on Wednesday he'd go in after the support group, and work until 2 AM. He sighed. "I had to get a second job," he told Steve. His fingers played with his napkin. "At the gas station."

"Nothing wrong with that," Steve said. "You do what you have to do. I know Natasha's helping you out, but I'm sure you'd like your own place."

Bucky wished he could just move in with Steve. It would be the easy solution to everything... except he and Steve had only been dating for a few weeks. It was too soon. For him, and now, clearly, for Steve. His little daydreams on the beach of living in the farmhouse with Steve felt stupid. People didn't just move in with each other that fast. Never mind get a pet together.

"Yeah," Bucky said finally.

The lobster came out then, and Bucky's appetite had returned enough that he could enjoy it. They laughed putting on the lobster bibs and each quickly lost their decorum as they made a huge mess of themselves. "One of these days I'm going to treat you to dinner," Bucky said, licking butter from his fingers.

"Ramen?" Steve asked with a lifted eyebrow.

"Nah, something good." Bucky laughed. "Campbell's soup or something fancy like that."

"I can't wait," Steve said.

After dinner, they decided the cold beach was too much, and headed back to Steve's house. The sky was still light, streaked with pinks and oranges, when they arrived. Bucky followed Steve into the dark living room and had just dropped his backpack on the floor when he felt Steve's hands grab him by the waist, and then Steve's mouth was on his.

Eventually they made their way over to the couch and fell into the cushions, Bucky underneath Steve, letting Steve kiss him as hard and fast as he wanted. Eventually, though, Steve stopped and asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah," Bucky said. "I guess... I'm just tired?"

"Oh, okay."

Bucky didn't want Steve to feel bad. He rubbed Steve's neck and said, "I'm actually kind of sore from last night still."

Steve grinned at that and kissed Bucky once more. "Are you now," he said in a throaty growl, and went in for more.

As Steve sucked lightly on his neck, Bucky smiled to himself. "Maybe we could just watch a movie or something?"

A few more kisses and Steve decided he could allow it. "But only if we have popcorn. I can't watch a movie without popcorn." He gave Bucky the remote and told him to find something on Netflix to watch. Soon Steve was back and Bucky had found one of those action movies with a bit of romance in it, and he could rest his head on Steve's shoulder and Steve could run his fingers through Bucky's hair and everything felt good.

Still, Bucky couldn't keep himself from thinking, _This could be every night._

36

It wasn't until Sunday night that Bucky had a chance to ask Natasha about Clint's girlfriend. As soon as he walked through the door and saw Natasha lounging on the couch watching TV, he remembered. "Hey, did you know Clint has a girlfriend?"

"What?" It took Nat a moment to comprehend, and then she was muting the television and sitting up. " _What?_ "

"Yeah," Bucky said. "He has a girlfriend. Kate something. She basically lives with him."

"Clint has a girlfriend?"

"Yeah."

" _Living_ with him?"

"Yeah."

"No way."

"I wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't told me herself."

"Wait, she was there?" Natasha shook her head. "Why would Clint ask you to dog-sit all weekend if he could have had his girlfriend do it?"

Bucky shrugged. This was Clint they were talking about.

"I can't even... I need to call him." Nat was already dialing his number. "This is unbelievable. He's fucking living with some chick and he never even..." She pulled the phone away from her ear. "Straight to voicemail. Idiot probably let his battery die again. I have half a mind to go over there right now and ream him out."

He started up the stairs, but Nat jumped off the couch and pulled him back down. "Not so fast! I need details. What did she look like? Was she nice? She'd better not be some stupid twat-"

Bucky shrugged off his backpack and sat down with Natasha. "She seemed okay, I guess. A little weird. But kind of like Clint, in a way."

"So, like, did you just walk in and she was there?"

"No..." Bucky thought about telling Nat everything that had happened Friday night. "Steve and I went out Friday night... there was this whole thing... anyway, when we got back she wasn't there. I heard her come in on Saturday morning. She said she has a key. I guess she doesn't live there? But she knew her way around. She said usually Clint sleeps in and she just comes in and eats breakfast and waits for him to wake up."

Nat held up a finger. "I am going to ask you about 'this whole thing' in a minute, but I still cannot wrap my brain around this. How long have they been dating?" She flopped back against the cushions. "Maybe I've been so wrapped up in all this drama with Bruce that he didn't want to tell me?" She jerked forward. "But who doesn't tell their best friend they have a girlfriend fucking _living_ with them?"

"It was pretty weird," Bucky agreed. "Get up in the morning, and she's in the living room eating cereal."

"What. The. Fuck. Okay, what does she look like?"

"Dark hair, long. She's cute. I guess she looks younger. Like maybe nineteen or twenty."

"I cannot even—" Nat shook her head, then shook it harder and waved her hands as if to say, _Enough_. "Okay, so... how was your romantic weekend with Steve?" She gave him a playful smile. "Did you two _do it_?"

Bucky felt his face heat up.

"You did!" Nat pointed at his face. "I can tell! Oh my god. Was it everything you dreamed it would be? Do you want to have his babies now?"

"Stop," Bucky said, laughing. "It was... good. Um. It was kind of, like, make up sex?"

Nat's jaw dropped. "No."

Bucky winced, then nodded.

"What did you fight about?" So Bucky told her all about the fight in the club and the shirt and everything. After he had finished, Natasha said, with a smirk, "Sounds like Steve's a little slut."

At the look on Bucky's face, she added, her face serious now, "But this guy was before you and him started dating, right? He hasn't cheated on you or anything?"

Bucky hadn't even thought to ask. He'd just assumed. "I think so." Great, something else to worry about. "I don't know. He says he's never been in a relationship before. Maybe he doesn't know..."

"He doesn't know how to be monogamous?" Natasha said sharply. "That's a crock of shit. I sure as hell hope he isn't feeding you that line."

"No, he didn't say that."

"Don't let him pull any shit just because you're his first official boyfriend." Nat nudged Bucky's knee with hers. "Seriously. Just because your self-esteem is in the gutter doesn't mean he can treat you that. If he hurts you, he'll have to fight me. Got it?"

Bucky gave her a little smile and nodded.

"Good. You deserve somebody good after all this time. Geez, I can't believe Steve's a chronic hookup kind of guy. He totally came off like the Mr. Serious Relationship guy."

"How are things going with you and Bruce?" He didn't feel like harping on Steve's past anymore.

Nat shrugged. "It's okay. We're talking, at least, so that's good. Is it weird that for our first date after this whole break thing, he took me out to lunch? Like, _lunch_. What's that about?"

"He wants to take it slow?"

"Ugh." Nat flung an arm over her eyes. "I don't think he understands my needs. I have a very high sex drive. I'm going crazy over here and he's taking it slow."

Bucky wasn't sure what to say to that. It didn't matter; Nat whipped out her phone again. "I have to call Mora and tell her about Clint. I cannot fucking believe that moron."

Bucky left her and went up to his room, where he unpacked from the weekend, and got ready for bed. Last night, sleeping with Steve, had been nice, even if they didn't do anything more than make out a little and sleep. He was used to sleeping alone, though, and the little anxious part of him had kept him from getting a good rest. It had been his first time sleeping with Steve without being at least a little bit drunk.

It wasn't even nine o'clock, but it felt much later. Bucky lay down, set his alarm for the morning. His eyes were already slipping closed.

Monday morning came way too fast. Bucky knew he was going to need Sharon's awful coffee to get through his shift. "How was your weekend?" Sharon asked conversationally while they both poured themselves a cup.

"Pretty good," Bucky said. "Eventful."

"What'd you do?"

Bucky told her about going to the beach and dog-sitting for Lucky.

"Oh, Lucky! He's doing okay?"

"Yeah, seems to be. How long until he gets that cast off?"

"A few more weeks. Good, it's always nice to know when our babies get put in a good home. Oh, here's your friend now."

Bucky perked up, felt that little twinge of disappointment when it wasn't Steve. Of course it wasn't Steve. Steve had work now, nine to five every weekday. Nope, the blond head approaching the shelter doors was Clint. Sharon wandered away.

"Hey, man," Clint said. "I thought you'd be at my place when I got home last night. I have something for you." He held out a bottle of wine. "I figured you and your boyfriend would enjoy it."

Bucky accepted it, looking at the fancy script writing on the label. "Whoa, this is good wine. You didn't have to get me this." Clint shrugged. "I mean, your girlfriend ended up taking care of Lucky most of the weekend."

It took a minute for the furrow to work its way down Clint's brow and into full confusion. "My girlfriend?"

"Yeah. Kate? She showed up on Saturday morning and said she'd watch Lucky."

"Kate?" Clint still looked confused.

"Your girlfriend," Bucky spelled out. "Dark hair? Has a key to your apartment?" When Clint's face didn't change, Bucky said, "Look, if you wanted to keep her a secret maybe you should have told her you were going away for the weekend. Anyway, I already told Natasha, so secret's out. I mean, Kate said you guys had been dating for a while."

Clint's mouth opened, closed, opened again. "I don't have a girlfriend," he said.

Bucky didn't know what else to do with the bottle of wine in his hands. He held it out to Clint. "Do you want this back?"

"I gotta go," Clint said, and took off out the door.

"He's a weird guy," Sharon commented, circling back to Bucky. "A little scatter-brained, huh?"

"Yeah," Bucky said. He knelt down to put the bottle of wine in his backpack. He and Steve could share it later when Bucky went over to Steve's for dinner. Steve had promised to cook for him, after they'd ordered take-out Sunday night and Bucky playfully accused Steve of not knowing how to cook.

"You sure he's good to take care of Lucky?"

"Pretty sure," Bucky said. "I don't know what the deal is with this girl who lives with him. She seemed kind of young..." Bucky had a sudden thought that maybe Kate was underage, and that was why Clint didn't want anyone to know about her. But if that was the case, how could Kate be living there? Didn't she have parents? He didn't think Clint would do that, though. He shrugged. "I don't know. But Lucky seemed to be taken care of. I have a key now... I guess I could pop over there and check up on him once in a while. I'll ask Clint if he wants me to do that."

"Might be a good idea."

37

Toward the end of the day, Bucky was finishing up cleaning the dog cages when he saw a sad-faced little girl with her fingers wrapped around the chain link of one of the cage doors. She had long brown pigtails and a tummy that poked out from under her pink striped shirt and looked to be about six or seven years old - a bit young to be wandering around the kennels by herself.

Bucky stood and looked around, saw a woman who was likely her mother talking to Maria across the hall. _Maria can take care of it_ , he thought, then stood up and approached the girl. The dog in the cage was an older one, a black lab with lots of gray around her muzzle.

"Are you looking for a new puppy?" he asked, crouching down so he was her height.

"Yeah," she said. "Our other puppy died. He got smushed by a car."

"Oh. That's sad," said Bucky. "It's sad when pets die, huh?"

"Yeah."

Bucky watched the black lab, Molly, lick at the girl's fingers. "You want to see the puppies?"

"Okay."

When Bucky stood up, he felt the little girl take hold of his bad hand. She didn't squeeze, so he let her hang on as he led her to the smaller cages where they kept the puppies. These cages had solid sides to them. The shelter tried hard to get the older dogs adopted so they wouldn't have to be put down, and while puppies were cute, they were a distraction from the dogs who really needed a home. As Bucky went to open the cage, the girl said, "That one looks like Casey."

The girl wasn't talking about the puppies. Instead, she was pointing to Scruff, a border collie.

"That's Scruff," Bucky told her, and brought her over.

She smiled as Scruff lapped at her fingers. "That tickles," she said.

Bucky snagged a leash and clipped it on Scruff's collar before opening the door and leading her out. Scruff could get a little over excited at times, but Bucky kept a firm hold of her and the dog listened when he told her to sit. The girl still ended up getting her face washed by Scruff's tongue.

He hadn't even noticed when the mother arrived. "Oh, Madison," she said. "Don't you want one of the puppies?"

"I like this one," Madison giggled.

"I don't know..." her mother said.

"She's a good dog," Bucky said. "A little excitable, but I'm sure in a good home she'd calm down. She loves kids, she knows all the basic commands - no, sit, stay, heel, lie down... She's also housebroken. That's a bonus for an adult dog over a puppy."

The mother still looked unsure.

"You can take her out into the yard and play with her a bit if you want?"

"Yes!" Madison shouted, causing a few of the dogs in the kennel to bark.

The mother did not end up adopting Scruff, or any of the puppies for that matter. Madison was in tears as they walked out empty-handed. Bucky hoped they'd be back.

He checked his phone at five. No word from Steve, but then, he was probably just leaving. Bucky sent him a quick text - _I'm going to start walking to your place_ \- and headed out. The June evening was still sunny and not too hot, and Bucky figured he wouldn't get too far before Steve caught up to him.

By the time he started down Blue Hill Road, he checked his phone again. No word from Steve. He supposed Steve might have been held up at the end of the day and left work late. Bucky knew his stepfather's company headquarters weren't that far, and it shouldn't take Steve more than ten minutes to make it through town. _There's always rush hour traffic,_ Bucky thought _._ It was a nice walk, so he tried to focus on that. The absence of too many cars allowed Bucky to let his mind drift. If he lived at Steve's, he could walk this way every day and not have to inhale the stench of car exhaust and dumpster garbage. No, Steve would probably give him a ride to work every day. Maybe Bucky could even start to re-learn how to drive...

 _No. No_.

Okay, so he could walk or Steve could drive, it didn't matter. It really didn't matter, because it wasn't going to happen any time soon.

 _But maybe, if they were still dating in six months..._

By then the weather would be getting colder, and this lovely walk would be a miserable march through the winter.

A car horn honked behind him and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Naturally, it was Steve.

"Hey, hottie, need a ride?"

Bucky grinned.

When he hopped into the passenger seat, he saw the grocery bags in the backseat. "Ah," he said. "Now I see why you're late."

Steve looked a bit sheepish. "My kitchen still isn't fully stocked yet. I had to pick up a few essentials."

"Sure, sure."

Once at Steve's place, Bucky took a seat on the center island counter while Steve gathering together what he'd need. "What are you making for me?" Bucky asked. His stomach was already growling.

"Stir fry," Steve replied. "My mom's recipe. You want a beer or something?"

"Oh! I have wine!" Bucky remembered, and hopped down to pull out the bottle.

"Wine? That's fancy." Steve rummaged through some of the cabinets underneath the counter and pulled out an unopened box of wine glasses. "I have to admit, I'm not much of a wine drinker. Got these glasses as a housewarming gift and didn't think I'd ever use them."

"It's white wine," Bucky said after Steve had unpacked two of the brand-new glasses. "Uh, do you have a corkscrew?" Steve found one in a drawers, then started prepping the meal while Bucky poured.

Wine glass in hand, the rich smell and sizzle of food cooking, the sun slanting through the window - Bucky felt totally and completely at ease. _Time to ruin it._ He poked Steve's butt with his shoe and asked, "How was work?"

Steve dumped some cubed meat into the wok and it sent up a hiss of frying oil. "Pretty good, actually. I met the big boss today."

 _No_.

"He's really awesome. The kind of guy I'd like to become someday, you know? The kind of guy that just commands respect by walking into a room. But approachable, too. Like, he just calls everyone by their last name. Reminds me of the army a little bit."

It was a good thing Steve had his back to him because Bucky struggled to keep his expression neutral. _You missed your chance. You can't tell him know. He thinks your stepfather is fucking hot shit. You tell him his new awesome boss is your stepfather and who knows how he'll react._

"Pierce – that's my boss – says I'm too good for what they've been having me do. Thank the Lord, because I don't know if you noticed how fucking stressed out I was last week."

Bucky gave a weak laugh. "I noticed."

"Yeah. I'm sorry." Steve turned away from the wok long enough to reach back and squeeze Bucky's knee. "Hopefully things will go a lot more smoothly now."

Bucky took a long swallow of his wine. Finished off the glass, and quietly poured himself a little more.

"I told Nat about Clint's girlfriend," Bucky said, to change the subject. His eyes focused on how Steve's t-shirt pulled across his back. "She had no clue."

"That's just weird. Hey, can you grab me a pot holder?"

Bucky hopped down from the counter. He didn't let go when Steve tried to take the pot holder from him. Instead, Bucky pulled him close so he could sneak a kiss in. Steve laughed in his throat and patted Bucky's ass with the pot holder after Bucky had relinquished it.

Steve moved the pot with the rice from the burner to let it steam. The movement of the muscles under his shirt was mesmerizing.

"What's even weirder is that Clint came by the shelter and thought I'd been watching Lucky all weekend, and pretended like he didn't know what I was talking about when I mentioned his girlfriend."

"You know what she asked me about while you were in the shower? She quizzed me on which celebrities I thought were hot while you were in the shower. Every single page of _People_. 'Do you think he's hot? How about him? I'm just trying to figure out your type.'"

Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was having gone a whole night without Steve. Bucky couldn't stop himself from running his hands up and down those wide planes of Steve's back and sliding his hands around Steve's waist.

"Hold up," said Steve, lightly pulling at Bucky's hands. "I don't want you to get burned."

Trailing his fingers along the way, Bucky stepped back to lean against the counter. Steve stirred the contents of the wok and, with a little smirk over his shoulder as warning, reached back and grabbed the front of Bucky's pants. Bucky hadn't worn a belt, and his pants were pretty loose, so there was plenty of room for Steve to peek inside. He did so with a knowing smile.

"Just wanted to see which ones you decided to wear for me," Steve said. He released the pants, and ran his index finger up the bit of happy trail between the top of the silver boxers and Bucky's naval.

In case Steve didn't catch the way Bucky's cock had jumped at his touch, Bucky stepped forward and hooked onto Steve's belt loops, pulling his hips into Steve's ass and pressing the length of their bodies together. No way Steve couldn't feel that hardness poking into him. Bucky used his stubbly chin to pull down the neck of Steve's t-shirt and then pressed his lips into the nape of Steve's neck.

When Steve continued to cook, acknowledging Bucky's actions only by laughing softly, Bucky ground his dick against Steve's ass harder, and slid his lips to suck on Steve's neck, licking and lightly biting. Soon he felt Steve moving into his touch, until finally Steve said, "Don't you want to wait until after we eat?"

Bucky pounded his hips against Steve a couple of times in answer, not wanting to give up on Steve's neck.

"No?" Steve asked, a smile in his voice.

"Mmmm-uh," was the sound Bucky managed to make against Steve's skin.

The wok clanked as Steve moved it off the burner, the knob making little clicks as Steve turned off the heat. Then Steve spun around so fast Bucky lost his grip - both his lips and his fingers on the belt loops - and now Steve was pressing against him, bending him backwards over the counter with a sudden ferocity. Their tongues thrashed in the open space between their mouths, each eager for a taste of the other. As Steve applied more force, Bucky clung to his neck to keep from falling, but he never feared it, really, because Steve's arms had twined around his waist, tight, like a brace.

The rubbing of Steve's erection against his own cranked up the arousal Bucky felt. He panted into Steve's mouth, clawed at Steve's clothes, wanting them, wanting his own off.

Suddenly the dig of the marble countertop into his back disappeared, and Steve's arms released their crushing grip, and then Bucky felt Steve's fingers popping open his fly and yanking his pants and boxers down. Steve's fingernails cut into his skin, and somehow Steve could only get Bucky's pants down just to the top of his thighs before he exhaled in frustration against Bucky's mouth and, still sucking on Bucky's lips, lifted him easily onto the countertop. His ass felt a shock of cold marble before Steve deserted his mouth.

For a moment the only thing that stood between the two was Bucky's erect cock. Bucky still had his hands on Steve's shoulder, a grip he abandoned when Steve gently pushed him back and Bucky needed those hands to prop him up. With a wicked grin and a flash of those blue eyes, Steve grabbed the base of Bucky's dick and lowered his face.

Bucky tilted his head back and let out a moaning exhale as Steve's tongue worked its way around the tip. His left arm started to shudder; he put more weight on his right and lifted his bad hand up to rest on Steve's head. Steve had just gone down, the hot wetness of his throat swallowing every inch, and on the way back up, Steve snatched Bucky's hand from his hand.

Bucky, breathing heavily, opened his eyes in surprise. Some people didn't like their heads held while giving a blow job, but Steve only kissed the palm before placing it back in his hair. Half of Bucky's mouth smiled, then he was back inside Steve and this time Steve didn't let up. He'd never felt a sucking pull like that before, and he groaned and his fingers curled up in Steve's hair a bit.

Steve knew what he was doing down there. Whatever Bucky had experienced on that morning - the surprise blow job morning - that was nothing compared to this. The pleasure between his legs became so intense he couldn't lie back and just enjoy himself. He needed more contact with Steve. Whenever he bent forward, Steve pushed him back, until he wasn't sure he could take it. He stuttered out a series of grunts and moans and finally he blurted out, "Fuck me, I'm gonna come."

Then Steve's mouth was gone. The slap of cool air on his dick tempered things a bit, and he opened his eyes. Steve pulled him off the counter with surprising gentleness, kissing his gasping mouth, his cheek, and whispering in his ear, "Not yet, wait for me."

"Hurry," Bucky moaned desperately. He wasn't sure if Steve was going to jerk himself off or what, but then Steve spun him around and bent him over the counter, and the bottle of canola oil slapped down on the counter beside him.

"Shit, be right back." Bucky snickered at the sight of Steve hurrying from the room with one hand holding up his pants, caught halfway down his ass. Barely two seconds gone from view, the slam of a drawer in the bathroom, and then Steve was back. This time Bucky got the front view as Steve ripped open the condom wrapper with his teeth.

The canola oil bottle disappeared and he arched his back when he felt it drizzling down the crack of his ass.

"Are you still sore?" Steve asked, running his slicked up fingers across Bucky's asshole. He was so gentle, his touch almost tickled.

Bucky shook his head, gulping for air, then pushed back against Steve's fingers until Steve began working a couple fingers in. Bucky felt the stretch happen almost immediately. His dick was pulsing. He bumped it up against the cold marble hoping to stave off the inevitable orgasm while his breath fogged up the glossy surface of the counter.

"I'm good, just put it in," Bucky said. His voice was a high gasp. "Oh, god, I want you in me."

His asshole stretched tight around Steve's cock, and for a second Bucky worried that he'd overestimated how ready he was. Then Steve's head hit the sweet spot, and Bucky's whole body set to trembling.

"Wait for me," Steve begged him. "Please." Steve lay his upper body down on top of Bucky's and repeated the words into Bucky's hair, tickling his ear. "Please. Wait for me. Hold on." He wrapped his arms around Bucky's waist, thrust up into him. Bucky gripped the edge of the counter and groaned, trying to hold back what threatened to explode out of him. "Almost there," Steve whispered, grunting between each word.

Bucky's breath had turned into a keening moan. "I can't hold it off anymore," he pleaded.

"I want us to come together," Steve said, pumping more desperately. Only a few seconds later, Steve gasped, "I'm coming."

As Steve came, he folded over, and Bucky bent with his weight until they both came to rest on the counter. Bucky released then, too, feeling his body flush and a sensation of completeness settle over him. Cheek against marble, he listened to Steve's excited grunts fade into a soft moan. "Guess we've christened the kitchen," he breathed into Bucky's ear.

When Steve moved to pull out, Bucky reached back and kept him in with a hand on Steve's ass. He closed his eyes, feeling Steve's erection fade, relishing the comfort of being filled up, until his fingers relaxed and Steve withdrew. He peeled his face from the counter and rubbed at the spots of sweat and condensation clouding the surface. _Guess we did_ , he thought, smiling to himself.

38

During dinner all Bucky could think about was the possibility of fucking Steve in every room of his house. The living room, the bedroom, the bathroom, in the sawdust of that spare room – hell, even the porch wasn't off-limits. Despite having had an orgasm less than half an hour earlier, Bucky felt hot and bothered.

Steve, on the other hand, was fading fast. He was still eating his stir fry. Bucky had gobbled his down, appetite only intensified by the sex. "I'm sorry I questioned your cooking skills," he had told Steve through a mouthful. They'd fucked so hard and fast that they hadn't needed to reheat anything.

Only now Steve was barely bringing his fork up to his mouth. His eyelids drooped. Bucky slid down in his chair so he could stick his foot between Steve's legs and nudge him to life. It worked for half a second. "Boy," Bucky said. "You really do get tired after sex." His toes directly poked Steve's dick through his pants. "Maybe we need to work on your stamina."

"S'why I wanted to wait until after," Steve muttered.

The clock on the wall read six-thirty. Bucky chewed on his thumbnail and hoped the evening wasn't going to end here. "How about I take care of the dishes, and you go lay down?"

Steve was too tired to argue, and too tired to get up. His extreme sleepiness made him look like an overgrown child, and Bucky found it strangely endearing. He took Steve's plate from him and prodded him. "Go lay down," he said.

"Fine," Steve said, dragging himself up from his seat and shuffling into the living room. Bucky heard the sound when Steve collapsed onto the couch. The television went on, some sports game, while Bucky packed up the leftovers and loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the counters.

By the time he lay down with Steve on the couch, Steve had passed out. Snoring, mouth open. Bucky combed the blond hair lightly, then slipped the remote control from Steve's limp hand and flipped through the channels. He hardly ever had a chance to watch TV unless it was with Nat. He found Animal Planet and pulled Steve's arm around his waist and settled in for a mini-marathon.

The photograph on the mantle drew his attention during the commercial breaks. There was a story there, Bucky knew it. Steve rarely shared anything about his past. It made Bucky insanely curious, but afraid to approach it. He wasn't good at subtle.

Steve was his boyfriend, though, wasn't he? Bucky should know about Steve's past, whatever had happened. He had told Steve all about the accident, and about his family – not everything, obviously, but a whole lot more than Steve had told him.

Somewhere around eight-thirty, Steve stirred behind him, and Bucky immediately rolled over. "You awake yet?" Bucky asked. Somehow the sound of Steve breathing had gotten Bucky excited again.

"Geez," Steve moaned, rubbing his face. "Do you seriously have another boner?"

"Yeah." Bucky rubbed his hips up against Steve. "Come on, old man."

Steve groaned and flung his arm over his eyes. "You found out my secret. I'm actually 90 years old."

Bucky lifted Steve's arm and kissed his chin.

"Seriously. I'm a one-pump chump."

Bucky laughed. "That was way more than one pump." Shaking Steve's arm, he added, "Can you let me at least try to get you in the mood?"

"Fine." Steve's voice feigned resignation, but Bucky saw the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

He commenced kissing those corners, and running his fingers through Steve's hair as he nudged Steve's arm away from his face. For a while he just kissed Steve anywhere and anyway he wanted – Steve wasn't pushing to kiss him back the way he normally did, and Bucky liked the slower, relaxed pace. Not every kiss needed to be about shoving a tongue down someone's throat.

Eventually Steve shifted so Bucky could lie on top of him, and he moved his hands up and down Bucky's back, dragging his fingernails along Bucky's t-shirt. Steve made a little noise like "Hmmh" and Bucky dragged his lips away from Steve long enough for Steve to say, "You took off your flannel."

Chuckling, Bucky went back to kissing Steve's neck. "It's like seventy-five degrees out," he said between mouthfuls.

"I'm glad you don't need to wear it around me," Steve said into his ear. Bucky sighed, though his mind turned to that photograph again. He trusted Steve. Felt like Steve accepted him as he was. But Steve hadn't told Bucky about that dog when Bucky had asked about it.

He propped himself up on Steve's chest. "Tell me about your dog. Niko."

Steve's face changed in an instant. "Well that's one way to ruin the mood," Steve said. He started to sit up, forcing Bucky to roll off of him. Confused, Bucky perched on the edge of the couch until Steve sat up completely and turned to face the mantle. Steve put his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes.

When it became clear he wasn't going to talk, Bucky said, "I was just wondering, that's all. You have the picture up there."

Steve still didn't answer.

"Remember, the other day, when you said you didn't want to tell me stuff because you were worried I couldn't handle it, or because I'm usually too upset, or whatever?"

Now Steve took his hands from his face and looked over at him. Finally.

"Well, I'm _asking_ you to talk to me. I _want_ you to talk to me."

Steve covered his face again. "I suck at this," he said, his voice muffled. He took a deep breath and emerged from his hiding place. "You're so open about your feelings. Even when you're not, I can read you like a book – most of the time, we both know I'm not perfect. I've always been good at hiding everything I ever felt."

Inching closer, Bucky wrapped his hand around Steve's thigh – not in a sexual way, more of a comforting way. "Why do you feel like you have to hide?"

"I don't know." A shrug of his shoulder. "No, I do. It was my aunt. After my parents died – it was pretty sudden – I went to live with my aunt and uncle. My aunt, she was my mom's sister, and she took it hard. Um, she spent some time in the hospital for depression, so my uncle was very clear that I couldn't upset her."

"Well, that's fucked up," Bucky said. "You were just a kid."

Steve shrugged. "That's just how it was. I guess, even before that, I wasn't super emotional. I mean, I got into a lot of fights, but not really because I was angry. More that I was protective of people. Then, after my parents, I even lost that."

Bucky worked his shoulder under Steve's armpit, curling his own arm even tighter around Steve's thigh, then laid his head on Steve's bicep. "You're protective of me," Bucky said.

"Maybe that's one of the reasons I like you," Steve said, turning his head to kiss Bucky's forehead. "You remind me of how I used to be."

Bucky's heart swelled at that. Still, he asked, "So... will you tell me about Niko?"

"I suck at this," Steve said again. His attention shifted to the photo on the mantle, and that was when he started talking.

He told Bucky how Niko had been assigned to his unit on his first tour. He'd been so homesick he latched onto her immediately. They did two tours together, the two of them, and Steve had planned to adopt Niko when he quit the army... then Niko had been assigned to another unit. "I tried to keep in touch, even found out one of the guys I did basic training with was in her unit. For a while we emailed each other, and he sent pictures... then..."

Bucky kissed Steve's bicep, curled his fingers along Steve's leg.

"Then there weren't any more emails. It took me a while to track down what happened. I mean, communication with active units isn't constant. There'd be weeks when I didn't hear anything. I tried to tell myself that everything was fine, but eventually I couldn't. And we got the news that three soldiers had been injured when an IED went off. Niko... well, Niko saved their lives, I guess. I just wish I'd quit the army sooner. Niko deserved to retire early. Sometimes I think about what it could be like, if she had been able to live here with me."

No tears, somehow Steve wasn't crying, even when Bucky wanted to. Bucky had a feeling that Steve was not anywhere near as raw and honest as Bucky usually was, but it was a start. "And then you came to the animal shelter," Bucky said.

"Not for a year or so." Steve looked over at him. "It was this house. I kept thinking of her running out in the fields... and I figured, if I couldn't do it for her, I could find another dog... one that really needed a home, you know?"

Bucky nodded. It was exactly how he wanted it to be with Cheddar, wasn't it?

It didn't take long before Bucky started nuzzling Steve, trailing light kisses all over his neck until Steve guided his face up so that their mouths met. He could feel the need, the way Steve kept his eyes tightly shut and kissed like he was empty and had to fill himself up, and Bucky was happy to do it, pushing his tongue against Steve's. Steve's hold on either side of Bucky's face kept him from drifting away. He moved his hands up to rake through Steve's hair, to trace the edge of Steve's ear, and finally to make their slow way down, picking at the fabric of Steve's shirt until it started to pull up. Snaking his hands underneath the fabric, he pushed his palms up Steve's chest. Steve relented and held his arms up over his head so Bucky could pull the shirt off.

Their lips rejoined. Bucky's stubble scraped against Steve's chin and cheeks. While his fingers comforted Steve's skin with gentle caresses, Steve's fingers danced over Bucky's ribcage and, under his shirt, played his spine. He reached so far inside Bucky's shirt that he could ease Bucky's bad elbow through the armhole, then rip the rest of the shirt off over Bucky's head.

How long did they just make out, shirtless, Bucky's chest hair sweating lightly against Steve's waxed chest? Bucky lost all track of it. Television shows played punctuated by commercials and rolled credits, and though the room darkened and crickets sang outside the windows, Bucky didn't pay any attention. Eventually the pants came off too, unzipped and kicked off unceremoniously, Steve's hands kneading Bucky's ass, Bucky lazily sucking on Steve's lower lip while trailing his toes along Steve's very ticklish instep.

Then the back of Steve's hand bumped up against Bucky's dick through his boxers, and he felt himself growing warm, dragging Steve's hand back. He closed his eyes and sighed into Steve's neck and rocked his hips into Steve's hand. Sneakily he slid his own hand along Steve's hard stomach and into the flag boxers, wrapped around Steve's cock and stroked it gently, like one would a shy animal, until it began to stiffen and Steve groaned.

"We should probably christen the living room, while we're at it," Bucky whispered in Steve's ear.

Steve exhaled a laugh. "Okay," he said. "I can do this. Let me get the stuff."

Rather clumsily they untangled themselves, and Bucky lay on his back and played with himself waiting for Steve. This time Steve found actual lube. Bucky's toes curled hoping it was the tingly warm stuff he'd used the first time. Steve stepped out of his boxers, then rested one knee between Bucky's legs.

"Roll over," Steve said.

"Let's do it like this." Bucky reached up and playfully tugged on Steve's dick. "I want to look at you. And kiss you."

Steve hesitated. "Okay." He looked at the bottle in his hand like he didn't know what to do with it.

Confused, Bucky sat up. "Do you... not want to look at me?" That one idea unleashed a wave of other awful thoughts. _Why the fuck would he want to look at you? You're just a series of hook ups to him. He doesn't care about you._ His eyes blurred.

"No! No, that's not it at all." Steve nearly dove between Bucky's legs, pushed him back against the couch cushions. "No. Don't ever think that, okay? I love looking at you. Don't cry, okay?"

Bucky blinked hard and tried to tell those negative thoughts to fuck off. It helped that Steve was kissing him and stroking his hair, that he could feel the heat of Steve's groin against his.

"I've just never really done this position, except once. It's... really intimate, and well, you know me. I was drunk and it was some random guy, and I didn't like it. But... I'm sure it will be different with you." His thumb caressed Bucky's cheek. "I want to try it with you."

"Okay," Bucky managed to say.

"Okay." Steve sat back up and pulled off Bucky's underwear. Bucky watched him, wanting only for Steve to kiss him again.

Steve did just that, holding himself up with one arm while the other made a tour of Bucky's nether regions. He sighed against Steve's mouth. Having just had sex a few hours earlier, Bucky didn't need loosening up, but Steve was in no rush. He ran his fingers up and down Bucky's crack while Bucky squirmed with pleasure, filling his mouth with little bites of Steve.

When Steve finally slid in, Bucky clamped his legs around that tiny waist and hooked his feet. Steve made slow, controlled thrusts while holding himself up, until Bucky tugged at his neck. "Come here," he said. Once Steve had lowered himself so they were nose to nose, chest to chest, Bucky's cock sandwiched between them and loving the new friction, Bucky could kiss Steve all he wanted. He kept finding his eyes closing, some habit he had formed, and now made an effort to keep them open even when Steve closed his. Every so often he would catch a glimpse of Steve's blue eyes and try to hold the eye contact. Sometimes Steve looked almost drugged, his face slack with whatever he was feeling. Other times he looked at Bucky curiously.

Bucky thought he knew why, because he felt the same way. Who was this person who had come into his life only a few weeks ago, who now seemed to be one of the most important parts of it? How and when, exactly, had Steve's face become so familiar, when now that he looked at it, everything about it was new and wonderful?

"Steve," Bucky moaned, his mouth open against Steve's shoulder. He liked the feel of the name on his lips. He pressed his nose into Steve's skin, inhaling him, tasting him, wanting even more than the length of Steve's cock inside of him. "Say my name."

It was only when Steve tried to speak that Bucky understood the full extent of how Steve felt. Panting, the volume of his voice seeming to be out of his control, Steve said, much too loudly, "B-Bucky!"

Bucky gripped his legs tighter and thrust his tongue into Steve's mouth. Steve couldn't even try to kiss Bucky in return. He gazed helplessly at Bucky. "Bucky," he moaned, and sucked at Bucky's face. "Buck. James. Buchanan. Barnes."

Everything else fell away. Steve was shuddering and Bucky was clawing at his back and whispering hoarsely, "Steve. Fuck. Steve," over and over. They tottered on the edge for so long Bucky didn't know how much longer he could stand it. Every nerve ending in his body burned and trembled and wanted to contract. Steve's arms were crushing him now, he could feel the quaking of Steve's body, tiny tremors in his muscles, pulsing and roaring through his veins.

Amid the sweat pooling and lubricating between them, Bucky's cock oozed, and he saw in Steve's eyes the shared feeling. Then he was coming, pleasure shooting all the way up his dick as he released. He moaned, felt Steve start to shake. Tighter they clung for long seconds before Bucky was spent and Steve collapsed on top of him, his sweaty cheek sliding down to rest in the nook between Bucky's neck and shoulder. Bucky lifted a hand, combed back Steve's hair, and gazed up at the ceiling.

Shortly after, Steve fell asleep – not before whispering, "Thank you," in Bucky's ear. For a long time Bucky lay in Steve's arms, sleepy and content, sweat drying on his skin.

Eventually he extracted himself and quietly got dressed, then, smiling to himself, walked home under the stars.

39

Once again Bucky found his hands sweating before he entered New Horizons. He had made up his mind that he was going to say something this time, so naturally he was already nervous.

He headed straight for the coffee and poured himself a cup. The past two days had been exhausting. On Tuesday he had set his alarm early, so he could call Steve. It was something he had thought of on the walk home, that Steve was sleeping on his couch and hadn't set an alarm to wake him up for work. "Bucky?" Steve had answered sleepily, then awakened into panic. "Where are you? Are you okay?"

"I didn't want to distract you in the morning, but I thought you might like a wake-up call," Bucky had said.

"Oh, god, it's seven-thirty?" Apparently Steve normally got up around six to work out. He thanked Bucky, but admonished him for leaving. "You didn't have to go. I wouldn't have minded waking up next to you." Bucky felt warm inside when they hung up.

After that, however, he couldn't get back to sleep, and by mid-afternoon, he could feel the familiar pulse of a headache starting. Of course he started his new job at the gas station that night, so he couldn't nap in between. He took one of his dwindling supply of pills before clocking in, but the six hours he was scheduled to work didn't let him relax. He had to learn all the routines of the new job by shadowing another employee, which meant forced small talk and general awkwardness. Wednesday night they would let him work there alone, which is what Bucky really wanted. He'd done the graveyard shift at a gas station before. In a town like Springfield, there weren't many customers at night, and most of them just wanted to pay for their gas at the pump. Only the occasional customer entered the little store.

Walking home at two a.m. was also strange. The town had a deserted feel at that hour, and those people he did see were ones he didn't want to see, the junkies and the homeless and the asshole kids out to raise a little havoc.

And after he had gotten home and gone to bed, hours before his alarm was due to go off at nine, he woke up feeling like shards of glass had been hammered into his skull. The feeling started even in his dreams. In his dream he had woken up after the accident, half through the windshield, his left arm twitching on the hood like some dying fish, glass jabbing through his skin and impaling his head. He couldn't move, but his head was at such an angle that he could see his stepfather rising up from the airbag, hair perfectly coifed. "Help me," Bucky had croaked through a mouth full of blood.

"Your mother won't like this," Pierce said, looking at Bucky with false sympathy and shaking his head. "Look at the mess you've made."

He screamed into his pillow, beat his hands against his head, just wanting some kind of relief and still stuck in a weird half-dream state until Natasha came in. He heard her feet like an elephant clomping through the room, the scratch and rattle of the near-empty pill bottles, the crack of the opening refrigerator door, the crackle of the ice packs. He moaned loudly into his pillow even as she pulled him up. "Take your pills, James," pressing the tablet against his clenched teeth until he opened up enough to crunch it down, dribbling half the water she tilted against his lips. Then she placed the ice packs under his neck and on his forehead. He moaned, barely aware of her.

When he woke up, headache dissolved into a dull throb, he'd found sixty dollars tucked into the empty pill bottle. He wished he could give it back to her. Wished he could say he didn't need it. But he did, and he stopped at the pharmacy on the way to the shelter. The sixty dollars wasn't even close to covering what his migraine medication cost, but it bought him two bottles of extra-strength Excedrin, and he hoped that he could take the maximum dose and feel something.

By Wednesday night, the headache had finally left him, but the shit sleep he'd gotten wasn't going to get better. So, coffee. He sipped from his Styrofoam cup. It wasn't his first cup of the day, nor would it be his last. The guy he shadowed last night had told him with stoned-out glee that they could drink as much coffee as they wanted for free. Bucky planned on doing just that.

He opened his eyes and that was when he noticed the girl stocking up on cookies beside him. For a moment he just stared at her, his brain working to place her. Then he remembered. "Kate?" he asked.

The girl froze and turned to look at him, a cookie half in her mouth, another dozen or so cookies wrapped in a napkin ready to go in her purse. It was definitely Clint's girlfriend. She stared at him with wide brown eyes for a long minute, then bolted from the room.

Out of instinct he put down his coffee and jogged after her. "Wait!" he said. "I want to talk to you!"

But Kate didn't stop. She bolted down the hallway and out the door without another glance back.

"It's against the rules to chase people out of the support group," came Darcy's chipper voice behind him. He whirled around. She handed him the coffee he'd left behind and leaned in. "I'm just kidding, you know."

He must have looked surprised, so he shook his head and tried to laugh. "Sorry, it's just... I know her."

"So do we, let me tell you. I told her I don't care if she comes in _after_ the meeting and takes food. But she needs to wait until _after_."

"She likes cookies that much, huh? What, is she a poor college student?"

"I think she's homeless," Darcy said as they walked back into the room. "I see her all kinds of weird places. Yeah, I'm pretty sure she's homeless. Erik's tried to talk to her a buttload of times but she just runs off or lies." Darcy shrugs.

Bucky wondered if Clint knew that his girlfriend was homeless. Maybe that was why he had let her move in so soon.

When Erik called the meeting to order, his prompt for the evening was triggers. "Has something triggered memories of abuse for you recently?"

Bucky took a deep breath when his turn came around. "Hi everyone, I'm Bucky. I, um, I'm not sure if this really counts, but a lot of times I get nervous about riding in cars... Uh, I guess I should explain." He gave a quick rundown about the accident, then added, "I don't remember anything specific about that night. All I know is what my stepfather told me, but sometimes when I have nightmares about it, I have different memories. I've had dreams where he did something to the seatbelt, or to the airbag. Sometimes he tells me what he's done, and that's why I'm yanking on the steering wheel. Sorry, I got kind of off-track there? Mainly riding in cars at night, especially when I'm drunk, or if whoever's driving has been drinking, freaks me out. I had a panic attack last weekend when my boyfriend drove us to a bar. That's it."

"Thank you for sharing, Bucky," said Erik.

It was such a relief to get that off his chest, to see people nodding sympathetically. He took deep breaths to try to keep his hands from shaking as people around the circle continued to share. Bruce's voice brought him back to attention. After introducing himself, Bruce said, "This happened a few weeks ago, I got pissed at someone and my girlfriend grabbed my arm to pull me away from a fight, and long story short, she ended up falling down and... other people thought I had pushed her. And even though she keeps saying it wasn't my fault, I didn't hurt her, I can't stop thinking about how my mom used to say shit like that to my dad. 'Oh, it wasn't your fault, honey. You just don't know your own strength.' The last thing I want is to be like him. I've only seen my girlfriend, if you can even call her that, one time since then. I couldn't even bring myself to touch her."

Bucky began to understand exactly why Bruce had only met Natasha for lunch. Why he needed a break. He wished he could tell Nat what Bruce had just said... then remembered this was all confidential. Bruce was trusting him not to tell her.

Later, the topic turned to whether or not triggers were a good thing.

"I think they're good," said a gloomy-looking teenager Bucky remembered from last week. "Sometimes it's the tone in someone's voice that scares me, and usually those people aren't anyone I want to deal with. Like, I know from the way they talk that they're going to be just like my fucking dad."

"I kind of agree with that," Bucky said, surprised that he had spoken up. "But then part of me is like, other people don't freak out every time they get into a car. Why can't I just be normal?"

A woman across the circle said, "Yes! I just wish I could have normal reactions to things. For me it's usually smells; I'll be walking along and get a whiff of the perfume my mother always wore and my day is ruined."

That was all Bucky said during the meeting, but he left it feeling lighter, and that night, after his shift at the gas station, he crashed into bed and slept so deep he didn't dream.

40

Bucky waited until Nat had left for work before picking up his phone. His fingers knew the number by heart. He held his breath until, on the second ring, someone picked up.

"Pierce residence."

He was surprised to recognize the voice. He didn't know why he'd thought Renate wouldn't still be the housekeeper. She'd worked for them as long as he and his mother had lived in his stepfather's mansion.

"Hello, uh, may I speak to Mrs. Pierce, please?" His voice sounded ragged, and he cleared his throat.

"Who may I tell her is calling?"

Bucky hesitated. "This is her son."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Finally Renata spoke again. "Mrs. Pierce is resting. Please call again later."

"Can you wake her up? This is important."

"Mrs. Pierce is resting now," Renata repeated. "Please call later."

"Wait–" Bucky said, but he heard the click in his ear, and when he lowered the phone he saw the "Call Ended" screen. "Fuck," he spat out, and hurled the phone at the floor. After a few moments of rocking back and forth with his fists pushing into his eye sockets, he scrambled to the floor and picked up the pieces of his phone, frantically trying to fit them together. Lucky it had just been the battery cover that had fallen off. The phone turned back on and there was only a little crack in the screen. "Fucking idiot," he growled at himself. Renata had said to call back later - it wasn't like she had told him to never call again. He still had a few hours before his stepfather would be home from work. He still had time, if he didn't lose his nerve before then.

Showered and dressed, he made it to work for three, and spent the first hour trying to do everything Nick assigned as quickly as possible. If Nick noticed Bucky's rush, it was with a raised eyebrow nothing more. And when Bucky leaned into Nick's office and said he had to make a personal phone call, "I just need a few minutes," Nick said it was fine and Bucky slipped out into the empty play yard and dialed the number again.

He wished he knew his mother's cell phone number. That was information lost to him – he'd never had that one memorized, it had been programmed into the cell phone that had turned into a useless hunk of metal after he'd been kicked out of his house. He hadn't had the charger, and he hadn't had anyplace to plug it in anyway. The day it died he had hurled it at a brick wall and stomped on it the way he wished he could stomp on his stepfather's face.

The phone rang over and over, until Bucky was sure Renata had blocked his number, and then she picked up. "Pierce residence."

"I need to talk to my mother," he said.

Another hesitation. He heard in the background, his mother asking, "Who is it, Renata?"

The sound of the receiver being smothered filled his ear, though he could still hear everything. "Someone claiming to be your son."

"Jamie?" The sound of hope in his mother's voice crushed all the air out of his lungs.

"Ma'am, we have received calls like this before. They are just con artists, these people—"

"Give me the phone, Renata."

A shuffling sound as the phone switched hands.

"Jamie? Honey, is that you?"

"Hi, Mom." His voice cracked, and he was crying. He crouched down behind the picnic table, knees to his chest.

He heard his mother sobbing softly, too. "Oh, baby. Where are you? Are you safe? Are you eating?"

"I'm fine, Mom," he choked out, then stopped himself. This wasn't why he had called. "I'm mostly fine. I just... You canceled my health insurance. Or maybe..." He had to force the name through his teeth. " _Dad_... canceled it?"

"What? No, he wouldn't have done that... Oh, oh. Oh, honey, you had your birthday." More soft crying sounds on her end. "Two months ago. You're twenty-six now. You must be so grown up now."

"Yeah, it's been seven years." Bucky didn't know what she was talking about, and now the anger he'd held in for that long started to come out. It was her fault she hadn't seen him in so long. "I'm really fine, Mom, I just need health insurance."

"Honey, when you turn twenty-six, we can't cover you anymore."

Bucky's hand shook. Every muscle seized up. How could he not have known that? How could no one have told him? Then he realized that all his other friends had their own jobs. Their own insurance. He'd been the only loser still needing his parents to take care of him.

"Do you need money? I can give you money. Come for dinner tonight, please, I want to see you—"

"I have to work tonight," he said flatly.

"Please come, we can help you sign up for your own health insurance, and we'll pay for it, don't worry. Please, please, just come home."

Smearing the tears from his eyes, he sucked in a few breaths before answering. "You want to see me?"

"Of course! Jamie, of course. You didn't have to leave. I know you felt like it was your fault, but you know I love you no matter what. You know that, right?"

Hot useless tears overflowed, dripped from his eyelashes. He snorted back snot. "I didn't want to leave," he blubbered. "Dad—" Once again he choked on the word. "—told me you didn't want to see my face." His sobs echoed off the concrete walls of the building and he pressed his hand to his mouth to muffle them. "He said _you_ didn't want to see _me_."

"That's not... no, no, honey, no." His mother's voice, warm and loving, repeated that word, and he wondered how he had ever believed any of his stepfather's lies. "No, no. Jamie, baby, I love you, please, please, come home."

"I can't," he sobbed. "I can't see him. I can't."

"You know when he works. Come tomorrow. Come any day of the week. _Please_."

He couldn't get himself together enough to answer for a while. Finally he managed to say, "I'll try, Mom. I'll try to come home."

Bucky stayed curled up under the picnic table for much longer than the few minutes he'd said he needed. The sleeve of his flannel was damp and disgusting by the time he was done crying, and the sound of his mother's voice telling him she loved him kept replaying in his head and making his eyes well up. By the time he got himself under control and went back inside, his eyes were swollen and red and he was sure everyone knew he'd been crying.

At least that meant people left him alone.

He knew he wasn't in the right headspace to work with Pocket. He hid in Sharon's office for a while, checking on the kittens (especially Liho) and doing some grooming between feedings. Sharon had her hands full with the raccoon. "Goddamn little beast," she said, cleaning some claw marks on her arm. Bucky did his best to smile - it was half-hearted at best.

Only when everyone left for the night did he feel like he could finally breathe. He zapped his ramen in the microwave and sat down in Phil's office to eat and text Steve.

 _what are you up to tonight?_

It took a few minutes for Steve to text back; he must have been driving home.

 _not much, got my first big presentation tomorrow so I'll be working on that all night_

 _sounds fun,_ he texted back. That meant Steve wouldn't be visiting him at the shelter.

 _you okay?_

Apparently even his texts sounded depressed. _yeah_

He stared at that little lie, then added, _I called my mom today_

 _how did that go?_

His finger shook as he typed and had to hit the delete button so many times he wondered if this was worth it. _my whole life is a lie_

Almost immediately, the phone rang in his hands. Steve's name popped up and Bucky almost started crying in relief.

"I'm coming by," Steve said when Bucky answered. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"I'm two minutes away."

Bucky nodded, then remembered he was on the phone. He wiped the drips from his nose. "Okay."

But Steve didn't hang up. He muttered a stream of curses at the red traffic lights and pedestrians in the crosswalks, then Bucky could see Steve's car pulling into the lot and hear the sound of his door opening and closing through the phone.

"What happened?" Steve asked, after crushing Bucky to his chest. Steve's hand pressed against his head so that Bucky couldn't even think of pulling out of this hug. Not that he wanted to - all he wanted was Steve's arms holding him up right now.

Bucky croaked out the entire story through what was fast becoming a sore throat. "He lied, Steve. He fucking lied this whole time. He kicked me out and told me my mother hated me and all this time it was a lie."

"Where does he live?" Steve growled against Bucky's skull. His fingers dug painfully into Bucky's shoulder blades. "I'll fucking kill him."

"No! I-" Bucky still couldn't bring himself to say it. No matter how angry he was, no matter how much he wanted to kill his stepfather, he couldn't let Steve know. "No. Just... just stay here with me." He wiggled his shoulders, and Steve realized what he was doing and returned to stroking Bucky's hair.

"Okay," said Steve. "I'll stay."

Guilt settled in after a while, and eventually he had to pull away and tell Steve to go home. "You have that presentation tomorrow," Bucky reminded him.

"This is more important," Steve insisted.

"No, I'm okay now. I'm glad you came." He grabbed him tightly and pressed his lips to Steve's, not caring that anyone could drop by the shelter and see. The kiss was wet and a little desperate, and Bucky couldn't remember a time when he needed one more than right now.

When they pulled away, Steve wiped Bucky's cheek and studied him. "You're sure you're okay?" he asked.

Bucky nodded.

With one last kiss to Bucky's forehead, Steve left.

Bucky spent a good chunk of the rest of his shift grooming Cheddar. The normally playful dog seemed to sense Bucky's mood and let Bucky cuddle him and brush him and even trim his toenails. In return Bucky gave him plenty of treats and tummy scratches.

Feeling exhausted, Bucky swallowed down two Excedrin before heading home. His feet dragged along the pavement, and he wanted nothing than to go to bed and forget the last seven years had happened. But when he got to Ash Street, he stopped.

Bruce's car was in the driveway.

It might have been okay if the lights weren't on. If Nat and Bruce had already kissed and made up and were now back in bed together. No, lights on meant they were talking in the living room or the kitchen. Bucky would have pass by them to get to his room, and he didn't want to be the one to trigger Bruce again. He couldn't risk doing that to Natasha, even if he and Bruce were on shakily good terms.

He turned away and faced the dark night.

Years ago he had been in this place almost every night. Which friends' house could he crash at? What homeless shelter had an open bed?

Now, his first thought was to go to Steve's house.

He'd have to walk, because the busses didn't go anywhere near there. It would take almost an hour and a half to walk - a half hour to the shelter, then forty-five minutes or so from there. He'd get to Steve's house around midnight.

 _But Steve's been working on his presentation all night. He wants to go to bed early. He already took time out for you._

 _Steve wouldn't mind._

 _He would say he didn't mind, but he would mind._

 _After everything this week, you still don't think Steve would help you?_

 _After everything this week, can't you put Steve first?_

If he didn't go to Steve's, where else could he go?

 _You have a key,_ Clint's voice whispered in his head.

He did have a key... His legs began walking even before he had made the conscious decision.

41

"Barnes."

The voice rang loud and demanding, echoing somehow. Something kicked his foot. Hard.

Something was different. As his eyes cracked open, he couldn't quite figure out where he was. Little bits of stuff poked into his face. Something warm and pillow-sized lay in his arms, but it seemed to be breathing. Then it wriggled, and he felt something lick his face.

"Barnes!"

The animal shelter. Cheddar's pen. Nick Fury.

 _Fuuuuuck._

"Sorry," he mumbled, scrambling to his feet. Cheddar pawed and jumped, excited that his temporary roommate was now ready to play. "I'm really sorry."

Nick's tone turned low and deadly. "Get your ass in my office. _Now_."

Wood shavings rained from Bucky's hair and clothing as he dusted himself off. "Sorry, buddy," he whispered to Cheddar. "Looks like I'm in big trouble." Cheddar gave him a supportive lick on the chin.

"I'm so sorry, I really am," Bucky said as he entered Nick's office.

"Shut the door." Nick stood looking out his office window into the kennel area. Bucky noticed a man and woman, both dressed in suits and carrying clipboards, walking through.

 _Double fuck._ Bucky shut the door and turned to accept his fate.

"You have had many chances to prove yourself here," Nick said, still facing away. "You were lucky I took a chance and hired you to begin with."

Bucky stared at the duct tape on his boots.

"I am going to ask you again, and I truly need you to be honest with me." Finally, Nick turned around. Not an improvement in the situation. He rested his hands on his desk. "Do you need help?"

The first time Nick had asked this question had been after one of the first nights Bruce had stayed over at Nat's house. Now, Bucky gave the same answer he gave back then.

"No, no, it's nothing like that!" He spoke like his sentences had a time limit. "It was just... I was tired, and I fell asleep instead of walking home. I figured I'd be awake before anyone got here! I swear. I don't do this every night. I have an apartment. I was just tired."

Nick held up one hand.

"Let me get this straight. You decided to spend the night here, when you knew there was a scheduled inspection this morning. An inspection, the results of which will determine whether or not this facility might keep its license."

The seriousness of the situation weighed on his shoulders.

"And you chose," Nick continued, his voice rising, "to sleep in a pen with one of the animals instead of, perhaps, a chair in the waiting room, or the couch in Phil's office, or the floor in any of the other offices, or on the goddamned picnic table outside?"

Bucky struggled to breathe. This time was the last straw. He had thought this about every time Nick had brought him into his office, but this time was real. He had fucked up royally.

"I make exceptions for you, Barnes. Do you know why I do that? Do you know why I let you violate the dress code almost every day? Do you know?"

Bucky shook his head. Fuck, he was going to cry. _Don't do it_.

"I know what it's like to be down on your luck. You know there was a time when I lived out of my car? I made it to where I am today because someone gave me a chance, and I decided back then to give back if I ever saw the chance. I've given you many chances. Now, I need you to tell me something."

What? What could he possibly need to know?

"I need you to tell me why I shouldn't fire you right now."

Blinking hard, Bucky choked out the words. "I really need this job, sir."

 _Don't fucking cry._

"For the money?" Nick's words were clipped and short.

"Yes," Bucky said. He swallowed. "And it's the only thing I've ever been good at. And I'm not even that good at it."

As Nick's silence stretched on and on, Bucky struggled to keep himself together. _He's going to tell me to get out. Those will be his next words. Get out._

"I want you to go home and wash that shit out of your hair. Change your clothes. Eat something, goddamn it." If it were possible to curl up and die, Bucky might have done that, shriveling up as he turned to go. "And get your ass back here for your shift at two. Got it?"

Two steps later, his hand on the doorknob, Nick's words sunk in. He blinked, and looked at his boss.

"I'm not fired?"

"Don't test me," Nick said.

Natasha was still at home when Bucky walked in, cooking up eggs and bacon in a frying pan. The smell made Bucky's stomach growl. "Where have you been?" she demanded, then asked, "You want some breakfast?"

"Yeah," Bucky said. He slumped into one of the kitchen chairs and dropped his head into his hands. "Is Bruce still here?"

"What? Oh. No. He didn't sleep over."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. We just talked." Nat sighed. "I mean, it was good that we talked. He had a lot of stuff to tell me."

Bucky had some idea of what that "stuff" was, but he didn't say anything.

"So where'd you sleep last night?" Nat turned to look at him. "The shelter? Really?"

He scraped more wood shavings out of his hair. "Yeah. Got caught, too. But I didn't get fired, so that's a bonus."

Natasha waggled the spatula at him. "You seriously chose to sleep at the animal shelter, with the fucking dogs, when you have a perfectly good boyfriend who I am sure would love to have you in his bed?"

With a shrug, Bucky said, "I didn't want to bother him."

"Come. On! You need to get your head out of your ass. I'm your best friend, and you could have walked in last night and slept here and that would have been okay. Bruce knows you live here. I know you live here. YOU LIVE HERE. And if you don't start believing that Steve actually likes you, this relationship isn't going to last very long."

Bucky covered his face again. "You're right."

"AND!" said Natasha, throwing up her hands. "You have a key to Clint's place! Why didn't you go there?"

"I thought about it," Bucky said. "But I figured he didn't need another homeless person living with him."

"What homeless person?"

As Natasha finished cooking up breakfast, Bucky told her about seeing Kate. He didn't mention where he saw her, just that someone else had seen her stealing food and said they thought she was homeless. Natasha slid a plate of food in front of him and sat down with him to eat. "That's so random."

"Are you feeding him my plate?" said Clint through the screen in the open kitchen window. Both Bucky and Natasha jumped.

"No, idiot. I have a plate for you too. Because apparently it's my job to feed everyone." Nat grabbed a plate out of the microwave and handed it to Clint. "So we were just talking about your girlfriend," Natasha said.

"Ugh," Clint moaned through a mouthful of eggs. "Stop calling it that."

"It?" Bucky asked.

Natasha gave Bucky a look. "Clint thinks he has a ghost."

"I have never seen anyone in my apartment! What else am I supposed to think?"

"You think Kate is a ghost," Bucky asked flatly.

Clint waved his hands around. "Let me explain."

 _This is good, trust me_ , said the expression on Nat's face. Bucky bit back a smile and turned his attention to Clint.

"Okay, so I've been noticing things for months now. Things like, oh, a random magazine will show up on my coffee table. I don't know, I get my mail and chuck it on the table, so maybe I got someone else's mail by mistake. Whatever. No big deal. I notice my DVR's recording random shit, like every episode of Hoarders. I mean, it's a pretty interesting show, so I watched it. Whatever. I notice extra dishes in my sink. Or sometimes the dishes are washed. Sometimes food shows up in my fridge. Sometimes the toilet seat is down when I swear I left it up.

"So yeah, you're gonna say, Duh, it was that girl. But my door's always locked. No forced entry. I lock my door, I'm not an idiot."

"Do you lock your windows?" Bucky asked. "You have that fire escape right outside."

"My windows? Of cou-" Clint stops. "Fuck. Fuck! That's how she's getting in. Goddamn it."

"Aw, you didn't even let him get to the part where he went around asking if anyone had died in the building," Nat said.

Bucky laughed.

"Shit," Clint moaned.

"Bucky says he saw her again. Not in your apartment. Looks like you're running a homeless shelter."

"I don't get it! I have never seen anyone in my apartment! Homeless people aren't sneaky ninjas! Come on!"

"Clint," Natasha said, "think about it. You take out your hearing aids at night and you're dead to world. You wouldn't hear her _break_ your windows to get in. And you probably wake up and wander around your apartment for a while before putting them, don't you?"

"It's stupid to put them in right after I wake up," Clint complained. "I have to take a shower, and then I'm just taking them out again."

"There you go." Nat shrugged and took a prim bite of bacon. "She hears you crashing around your apartment in the morning and can sneak out without even bothering to be sneaky."

"That's it. I'm locking my windows when I get home."

"Sure you are," Nat said.

"Why would you? Maybe she's into you," Bucky suggested. "Why don't you leave your bedroom door open for her? Leave her a little note on the fridge telling her to come join you?"

Nat and Bucky had a few more laughs at Clint's expense. Bucky was feeling much better by the time he went upstairs and took another shower, then dressed in his least holey jeans and a black t-shirt. The day was already a bit warm, but he put on the gray sweater anyway. Nothing he could do about the shoes. For a solid ten minutes he stared at his reflection in the mirror, deciding first that he needed to shave, which he did, then deciding he needed to pull his hair back. Now he looked like someone his mother might recognize.

He didn't tell Nat where he was going. He ducked out the door and walked, head down, steamrolling his way to Lynnbrook Avenue. Keeping his eyes on the ground kept him from second-guessing himself. He didn't need his eyes to tell him where he was. The path home had been engraved in his mind.

At the gate he took a deep breath and hit the buzzer.

"Yes?" A male voice, not one he recognized. _Not him_. No, his stepfather was probably laughing it up with Steve like good old boys.

"I'm here to see my mother," he said.

42

Once the gate opened, Bucky knew exactly where to go. Nothing had changed. The flowers blooming on either side of the walkway were the same. Same number of steps to the front door, which opened in expectation of his arrival. But it wasn't his mother. It was Jasper Sitwell, his father's personal assistant.

"Mr. Pierce asked me to accompany you while you visit your mother," Sitwell said curtly. "For her personal safety."

He had hoped his mother wouldn't say anything to his stepfather. He had hoped she knew how he felt about him. Clearly that was not the case. He frowned. "I'm not going to hurt her," he said.

Sitwell didn't move. He stood like a solid block, as though he were some kind of bodyguard.

"Fine," Bucky said. "She asked me to come, you know."

"I have my orders," Sitwell said, and led Bucky into the house. "You are not to touch anything. Mr. Pierce will not tolerate any theft."

"I'm not gonna steal anything," Bucky said, his frown deepening. He followed Sitwell through the foyer and up the grand staircase, noting the portraits hanging on the wall. Large photographs of Pierce and his mother on their wedding day, and at other formal events. Once there had been a family portrait of the three of them. That was before Bucky had been shipped off to military school. Even after Bucky was kicked out of school, that portrait had remained.

Now it was gone, replaced by what looked to be a candid photo of Pierce and his mother out in the garden, laughing. Bucky knew there was nothing candid about that photograph. He trudged after Sitwell. His mother had allowed his stepfather to take that family portrait down. _And she wondered why I never called her before now._

He could feel the anger shaking through his body, and he took deep breaths as they approached her sitting room. He didn't want to be angry at his mother. He knew most of this was Pierce's fault, even though he still felt like she could have done more.

The sitting room was hers alone, painted in a soothing shade of lavender, filled with plants and flowers and books and photographs. His mother had always loved curling up in the window seat to read in the sunshine. When he stepped through the threshold, however, she was not in the window seat. She sat on the daybed, her legs hidden under an afghan, her cane resting against the wall. She was already looking up at him with teary eyes.

"Mrs. Pierce," Sitwell said stiffly. "I need to ask: is this your son?"

"Yes, of course," she cried, and held up her arms. "Jamie, come here."

"Mr. Pierce told me I had to verify his identity—" Sitwell stopped talking when Bucky pushed past him to lean down into his mother's arms. She still smelled like Chanel No. 5, and her soft brown hair was pinned up the way he remembered.

"I know my son's voice, thank you, Mr. Sitwell. Please, if you must stay here, stand in the corner and don't speak."

"I have my orders," Sitwell repeated, but he did as he was told.

Bucky was still hugging his mother. At first he had held her like she would break, but when she squeezed, he found himself squeezing back. Her thin bones felt fragile as a bird's. By her words he knew she was not. Not the way she had spoken to Sitwell.

Finally, wiping his eyes, Bucky sat down beside her on the daybed and really looked at his mother for the first time in seven long years.

"I'm sorry for this," his mother said, gesturing to Sitwell. "You know how protective your father is. He was quite angry when Renata told him that you called. He thinks you're going to ask me for money." She put her hand up to his face and smiled, tears sparkling in her eyes. "My baby boy. You wore the sweater I bought you."

"Yeah." Bucky looked down at it. "I... should have called you back then. But I thought you hated me, somehow. Even though you sent it."

"You're living with Natasha? Your old girlfriend?"

"Yes."

"When I told your father I wanted to send you a birthday gift, that was the address Sitwell here came up with. He said you didn't live there all the time, though? Jamie, please tell me you have a place to stay."

"I do. I've been living at Natasha's for a few years now. I pay rent and everything. You don't have to worry about that."

"Mr. Pierce is aware of your financial situation," Sitwell interrupted. A glare from Bucky's mother kept him from saying more.

"I worry. I'm your mother. And I am paying for your health insurance, no matter what your father says. Mr. Sitwell, can you bring my laptop from the office?"

"Mr. Pierce told me not to leave you alone with him."

"Did you pat him down? Make sure he isn't carrying a weapon? For God's sake, this is my son. He isn't going to kill me. Please, my laptop is in the office, just across the hall."

Grudgingly, Sitwell left them, only for a minute. Bucky smiled at his mother. "How are you doing... since the accident?" he asked, his words thick in his throat.

"I'm better than I was," she told him. "Rainy days are harder." She reached up and ran her hand down his bad arm. "How are you?"

He swallowed. "I have good days and bad days," he said.

Then Sitwell was back. It was mostly all business from there on out, except for those moments when his mother would get lost staring at his face, or when she would reach over and touch his arm or his leg and sigh, like she hadn't expected he would be real.

For Bucky, the whole thing felt like a strange dream. He had grown up in this house. He had spent days lying on the daybed, reading comic books while his mother sit in the window seat with her novels. Just down the hall, a few feet beyond the stairs, he imagined his old bedroom exactly as he had left it. Exactly as the maid would have left it: neat as a pin. The closet full of clean clothes with no holes in them, so many clothes he had a walk-in closet. Converse sneakers in every color, Italian leather shoes, tailored suits. His DVD collection housed under his fifty-inch flat screen. Sheets, 500-thread count, thick feather pillows.

Probably Pierce had turned his old bedroom into another office, or a guest room or something.

"That's it," his mother said, clicking a button on the screen. "When the cards come in the mail I'll forward them to you. But I'll pay the bill."

"Thank you." Bucky wrapped his arms around his mother. When he closed his eyes he tried to imagine that he had never left. That somehow he hadn't believed all his stepfather's lies, and he had finished high school and hugged his mother like this every day.

"Will you stay and have lunch with me?" she asked, as unwilling to end the hug as he was.

"I have to go to work at two, but if I leave by one-thirty I can get there on time."

His mother laughed. "Oh, we'll have Mr. Sitwell drop you off on his way back to the office. You don't mind, do you, Jasper?"

Bucky laughed silently at Sitwell's hesitation. "No, ma'am, I don't mind."

"Good! Will you help me get downstairs?" This she directed at Bucky. He did his best, probably giving her more support than she needed, but she didn't complain. When they arrived at the top of the stairs, she turned to him. He expected her to need him to carry her down. Instead she said, "Would you like any of the things from your room? Some of your old clothes? I'm afraid the electronics are probably outdated, but you haven't gained the freshman fifteen like most of the other young people I know."

He forced a smile at the joke. It only reminded him of how he hadn't gone to college. His mother clearly had no idea how often he'd gone hungry over the past seven years, and he wasn't about to tell her. "Sure," he said, then glanced at Sitwell.

The man shrugged and rolled his eyes. He seemed to know that while Mr. Pierce had given orders, Mrs. Pierce's orders trumped those.

The door to his bedroom was closed, and when he opened it, stale air rushed at him like he had cracked open a tomb. It was exactly as he had left it, only more faded, more gray. The maids had kept up on the cleaning, but everything still looked tired and old and abandoned. It made him feel sad, and he stepped inside mostly to hide the disappointment he felt from his mother. She had kept this room for him, after all.

Sitting down on the bed, he looked around. Now the tears spilled. This was a place and time lost to him. He was never going to be the person he had been the last time he was in this room. Even the version of himself right after the accident – he'd still hoped his mother would forgive him. He still had a home, even if it was with a monster like Pierce. He could have gone off to college and become successful at something, probably business or finance or something intangible to him like that.

But then, if he'd had that life, he might never have found out how much he loved working with animals. He might never have found someone like Steve. He might never have known how to make it on his own.

Back then, he thought he had needed all this... stuff. Now it was just stuff. Empty things he'd been living without for years, and no longer needed. Looking around now, there was nothing he wanted to take, except the picture on the bedside table. The one of just him and his mom. That he took.

With a sniff, he wiped his face, then stood and strode over to the closet.

He took only what he needed. The ghost of him wished to have it all again, the ghost of a wish that was easily banished into smoke. He needed good shoes. He needed jeans with no holes, some dress shirts. He took one of his old concert tees, mostly because he saw that it was Radiohead, and remembered how he had gone with Natasha and Pete and Mora and Clint and bunch of their other friends. He had forgotten all about that night, only a few weeks before the night that had ruined his life.

He also took one of the suits. Not the suit he'd worn to prom. This was a nice suit bought for him to wear to some formal company function where he would be on display with his mother, his stepfather's perfect family, perfectly dressed and perfectly behaved, so everyone could see just how perfect his stepfather was.

"Oh, that suit," his mother said when he emerged. "You looked so handsome in that. Are you sure you don't want more of your things? We can have a suitcase packed up. A box, whatever you need."

"This is enough," he assured her. He tried to tell himself he would be coming back. He could visit his mother now.

Throughout lunch he didn't ask her any of the whys running through his head. Why didn't she notice when Pierce hit him? Why didn't she do more to contact him? She asked him questions about his job, and he found himself telling her about helping the animals, about Cheddar and all the other dogs and cats he worked with every day. She seemed pleased that he had found something he loved.

All too soon, it was time to go, and he hugged her again for a long time. "My baby," she kept saying, "you'll come back to visit again, won't you? Soon?"

He promised, then he was following Sitwell out to the car with his pile of clothes packed up in a suitcase. He sat in the backseat, just to annoy the man and make him feel like a chauffeur. It was something the old Bucky would have done with glee. Now he took little pleasure in it, only wanting to avoid talking to Sitwell and to make his anger at his stepfather's orders known. When Sitwell pulled up to the animal shelter, Bucky muttered a thank you as he stepped out of the car.

"Don't you look nice," chirped Maria when he walked in. "Did you go shopping?"

"Sort of." Bucky looked down at his sweater. "I guess this is probably not going to survive my shift, huh?"

Maria wrinkled her nose. "It's going to get covered in fur."

"I appreciate the gesture," said Nick. Bucky took that as a sign that he was allowed to shuck off the sweater, and he worked his shift in just a t-shirt - but a clean, non-ripped t-shirt. Only a few times did he notice his coworkers glancing at his bare arm. He ignored it and did his job to the best of his ability. Head down, nose to the grindstone, hoping Nick wouldn't reconsider and fire him.

Steve texted him halfway through the afternoon: _dinner tonight?_

They made plans for Steve to pick Bucky up from work. Steve laughed when he saw Bucky sitting there, waiting with his suitcase. "You moving in?" he asked, not sounding like he'd mind if that were the case. He got out, and popped the trunk so Bucky could put the suitcase inside.

"I went to see my mom today," he told Steve, who wanted to know all about it. It occupied the ride to an Italian restaurant, which Bucky was happy to find was quiet and dimly lit. He and Steve sat side by side on the corner so that they slightly faced each other. Under the table, Steve squeezed Bucky's leg as Bucky told Steve about how weird it was to sit in his old room again. "I just had this idea of it in my memory, like this bright place full of everything I'd lost," he said. "But then, when I was there, I realized nothing in the room was important to me anymore."

"I'd imagine that would be weird. So it didn't feel like a shopping spree? You got a whole suitcase."

"A little bit. It's nice to know I have some clothes, even if they aren't brand new. They're basically like new. I had a lot of clothes."

They ordered their food, and then Bucky asked his usual question. "How was work? Your presentation go okay?"

"Yeah... surprisingly, it went really well. Pierce even gave me a pat on the back. Like, an actual pat on the back. Seriously, you have to meet this guy, Buck."

 _Already have,_ Bucky thought to himself. "Yeah," he said. "I'm just happy you're not so stressed out anymore. You don't have any looming deadlines over the weekend, do you?"

"Nope." Steve took one of the pieces of bread from the basket and gave half to Bucky. "I was thinking we could go hiking tomorrow, and then, on Sunday... Well, you might think this is a bit soon. My aunt and uncle are having a little cookout for my birthday - it's still a few weeks away, but my aunt's birthday is this weekend, and there's always stuff going on during my birthday weekend-"

"When's your birthday?" Bucky interrupted.

Steve rolled his eyes. "July fourth."

Bucky nodded, smiling. "That explains the patriotic underwear." He nudged Steve's foot under the table, and Steve squeezed his leg again, slid it higher. Bucky grinned.

"Anyways, I was hoping you would come? And meet my aunt and uncle?"

Bucky's grin lost its wickedness. "Really? You want me to meet your family?"

"Yeah, definitely. I mean, honestly, you're my first real boyfriend. They're curious about you. All they do is ask questions ever since I told them I was seeing someone."

"And they know I'm a guy, right?"

Steve guffawed. "Yeah. I'm out to pretty much everyone I know. Except at work... I don't know, I haven't lied or anything, but that's one of those things I don't want to broadcast." He shrugged. "It was the same deal in the military. Yeah, so my aunt and uncle definitely know. Ever since I hung up that poster of Justin Timberlake. Shirtless." Blushing, Steve continued, "It was pretty obvious."

Bucky laughed. "Niiice. But yeah, I would love to." He put his hand over Steve's down under the tablecloth. After inching Steve's hand up just a little, Bucky started asking about his family. "Would it be casual? Do you want me to dress up? I have new clothes now." He smiling to himself thinking about showing up to the cookout in his suit. Suddenly, he really really wanted a reason to wear that suit for Steve.

 _Like your wedding day?_

 _Stop._

He blushed anyway.

"And now that you're talking to your mother again, maybe someday I can meet her," Steve was saying. "But not your stepfather. I think if I met your stepfather I'd punch him in the face."

"Yeah, we'll see how it goes," Bucky said weakly. "I mean, it was weird even this once. And my stepfather doesn't seem to want me to be alone with her, so it might be a little while before I'm back in his good graces." That last part came out bitter. "Not that I _want_ to be in his good graces."

"There's no rush," said Steve, and in full view of everyone in the restaurant, he leaned over gave Bucky a sweet kiss that made Bucky feel warm all over. He tightened his hand over Steve's. "You're cute when you blush," Steve said.

That only made Bucky blush more.

"No one really cares, you know. You always worry someone's going to be watching and judging, but most of the time they're wrapped up in their own problems," Steve said. "Besides, how am I supposed to keep my hands off you when you dressed up for me and everything?"

Their food came out soon after, and Bucky scarfed down his chicken parm like he hadn't eaten all day. That salad at lunch hadn't been a real meal, as far as his stomach was concerned. He scraped his plate clean, then was left to watch Steve eat. "How was work for you?" Steve asked. "How's Cheddar doing?"

He knew Steve had asked just to get Bucky talking while he ate, but it left him suddenly remembering the shameful events of the night before. He looked down at his plate. "Cheddar's fine," he mumbled, then sighed.

"What happened?" Steve asked. Demanded, really. That protective instinct of his.

"You're gonna be mad at me." The look on Steve's face told him he was now going to do everything in his power _not_ to be mad. "Everything's fine now, really. It's just... last night... I should have called you."

"What happened?" Steve asked again, more gently.

"I walked home, and Bruce's car was there, and I didn't want to fuck everything up if Nat and him were in the middle of getting back together, you know? And I knew you were working on your presentation and I didn't want to distract you..."

Steve's hand slid onto Bucky's knee. "Buck," was all he said.

"I know!" Bucky covered his eyes with his hands. He was not going to cry in a restaurant. "I know. I should have called you. It was stupid. Nat told me exactly how stupid I was."

"Where did you sleep last night?" Steve's voice was dead serious. _Probably thought I slept in a dumpster or crashed at a homeless shelter. Worst case scenario._

"I slept at the shelter. With Cheddar. I mean, I used to do that all the time, until I got caught. And I got caught again, this morning."

"Buck..." Steve rubbed Bucky's knee. "But you said everything's fine?"

"Yeah," Bucky exhaled. "Nick gave me a break. I mean, it's probably my last strike before I'm out, but I still have a job." He removed his hands and finally dared to look at Steve's face. "I'm an idiot."

The look on Steve's face agreed. "But you're _my_ idiot."

43

The warm sun streaming through the windows kissed him awake. He didn't open his eyes right away. He wanted to revel in the light sheets twisted around his legs and the feel of Steve's virtually hairless body pressed up against his. He lay his cheek against Steve's smooth back, his arm draped around Steve's waist, Steve's ass cheeks hugged up against Bucky's groin.

Last night... Bucky let out a contented little _hmm_ just thinking about it. When they had gotten back to Steve's house after dinner, Steve had swung open the door and gestured for Bucky to walk through first. Bucky had been stopped mid-step by Steve grabbing the back of his pants. "Mmm, red's a good color on you," Steve had said with a purr in his voice, and it was all over. They shed their clothes on the way upstairs, lips locked unless they were stripping off shirts and yanking down pants, until they were both down to their boxers.

They had kissed madly for a long time, both rock-hard and grinding - Bucky's lips still felt raw and swollen - or maybe that was from after, when he sucked Steve's dick? His face wasn't used to being clean-shaven. Anyway, all that had been foreplay. Steve had fucked Bucky gently, face to face. Toward the end, Bucky had barely kept himself from moaning those three terrifying words. Good thing Steve was so good Bucky's brain stopped working and it was just an unintelligible series of moans and cries when he came.

"You are the horniest bastard I know," Steve grumbled through a sleep-clogged throat, pulling Bucky from his arousing memories.

"What? You never have morning wood?" Bucky reached down between Steve's legs, and Steve's cock jumped at his touch. He laughed into Steve's back.

Steve rolled over and stretched, and Bucky adjusted himself to fit under Steve's arm. "I suppose you want to start the day off right," Steve said into Bucky's hair.

"You're not talking about breakfast, are you?" Bucky asked.

"I could eat." He felt the apples of Steve's cheeks press into his head and knew Steve was grinning. "I could eat you."

That growly voice made Bucky even harder. "Is that a promise?"

Without answering, Steve sat up and scooted down the bed, then moved between Bucky's legs. He grinned again, and pulled the sheet up over his head before bending over and disappearing from sight. Steve's big hands gripped his hip bones, and Bucky groaned as Steve's mouth closed over just the tip.

His tongue licked right along the slit, traced around the rim, back over the top, around and around, those lips exerting a pull. Bucky lay his head back and panted. The more Steve focused on the sensitive head, the more Bucky's balls ached for attention. He gripped the sheets, willing himself not to lose it too fast.

Steve's fingers dug into the flesh around his hips, hard, hurting, and it helped ease Bucky back from coming right in Steve's face, until Steve suddenly changed his grip, sliding around to grip Bucky's ass like he was going to tear it apart. At the same time Steve opened up and took all of him into his mouth.

Bucky moaned, long and loud, as Steve began bobbing his head up and down, just his tongue stroking the underside of Bucky's cock, while Steve's fingers opened up his backside and stroked along his taint and around that tight ring of muscle. One hand disappeared, as did Steve's mouth, and under the sound of his own rasping breath he heard Steve sucking on his fingers. Those few seconds left him hanging in sweet anticipation, dick hardening, asshole quivering, waiting, longing...

Fingers jammed into his ass at the same time Steve's mouth swallowed Bucky's dick so far he could feel the tip hit the back of his throat. "Fuck!" he moaned. "Oh, fuck, fuck, Steve, oh god." The words spilled out of his mouth in tiny gasps. "Please, fuck, oh god, I love you, fuck, oh god, so good, shit fuck that's good."

His back arched up off the bed as Steve sucked hard, working that tongue as his head came up, then plunged back down, over and over, those fingers digging into his ass, curling inside of him, finding that spot – "Oh, fuck fuck fuuuuck," and then Bucky couldn't speak anymore, he was just moaning and writhing and trying to thrust into Steve's mouth. Steve held him down with one hand, keeping up that sweet rhythm until Bucky teetered on the brink, then he slowed down, trailing his tongue around Bucky's dick, tracing around and between his balls, down to dart inside his asshole between the fingers, then back up. Steve's tongue lapped at his testicles, coating them in hot spit that cooled in its wake. That center spot, when Steve focused on it, ramped him back up again, especially the way Steve's nose bumped against his dick.

Steve seemed to think that was amusing. Bucky could feel how his lips spread apart, how his teeth scraped lightly against the skin, and then Steve actually nuzzled his dick with his nose, and Bucky could feel the smile on his boyfriend's face as he did it. In all he was feeling he smiled and laughed, a tiny release that eased back on how close he had been to coming.

It didn't last long, as Steve's nuzzling meant his eyelashes brushed Bucky's pulsing hard-on, and Steve's finger was still massaging that sweet spot, and Bucky arched up again, feeling himself start to come. His hands clawed at the sheets, willing to tear them apart if it meant he could hold off long enough for Steve to put him back in his mouth. It was almost painful, that bit seeping out of his dick. He licked his lips and groaned and finally managed to grunt, "Suck me off, fuck just put it in your mouth," before Steve slurped his way up and touched his tongue to that little bit of come.

Bucky's whole body was quaking, ready to explode.

Steve's voice, low and deep, breath feathering on Bucky's cock, "You ready?"

"Yes," Bucky cried. "Yes, yes, please, yes!" And that chorus of yeses continued as Steve swallowed down the entire length, and he kept it there while those fingers aggressively pushed into his prostate, and Bucky came with a sharp cry. For long seconds he climaxed, his voice cracking and finally dying down, the pulsing of his cock slowing, and he shuddered a deep breath. All his muscles collapsed into the mattress. His fingers released the tortured sheets.

Steve emerged from the sheets, his face flushed and lips glistening, and he crawled up to collapse next to Bucky and kiss him on the lips. That little taste of salt made Bucky smile.

"You think that'll last you till tonight?" Steve asked.

"Yeah," Bucky sighed. "That'll do it."

They lay like that a few minutes more, just looking at each other in the morning sunlight, sweaty and glowing and content. Bucky kissed Steve with his eyes open. He could tell Steve's mouth was tired after all that, but Steve let himself be kissed. Bucky couldn't stop himself from sucking on Steve's swollen lips until Steve finally laughed and rolled away. "You're gonna get yourself worked up again," he said. "Come on, aren't you hungry?"

Bucky growled. "Yeah."

Another laugh. "I mean for real food. Come on, horndog. We're going hiking today. No excuses."

They had to get dressed, because when Steve tried to throw on his underwear and leave the room, Bucky pulled him right back in. Steve donned cargo shorts and a plain white t-shirt, while Bucky's new clothes didn't give him many choices for hiking. He threw on the Radiohead t-shirt and asked Steve if they could stop by his apartment. "I don't want to ruin all my good new pants." He had another idea, too. "You think we could bring Cheddar along on this hike? You know, if it's not a mountain or anything?"

"Sure," Steve said. Padding down to the kitchen in his bare feet, Steve called over his shoulder, "Pancakes or eggs?"

"Mmm, pancakes," Bucky answered. He went in to use the bathroom and wash up, then joined Steve in the kitchen. "Ooh, you have fruit too?"

"Gotta get your vitamins," Steve said, cutting up the strawberries while the griddle heated up. "Carbs, fruit, and obviously, protein." He had some bacon out next to the pancake batter.

All in all, it was the kind of perfect morning Bucky wanted to have every morning for the rest of his life. He wanted to wake up next to Steve, get dressed while Steve watched, stare at Steve's ass while he cooked breakfast... Suddenly Bucky remembered some of the stuff he yelled out while Steve had been blowing his mind. Had he really told Steve he loved him? He had. He could hear his voice in his ears saying those words.

 _Maybe Steve didn't hear it? You were yelling a lot of stuff._

In any case, Steve didn't mention it. That was something that happened, right? Yelling out "I love you" during sex? It didn't mean anything.

 _Face it, you're in love with this guy._

It might be true; Bucky had never felt this way about anyone. He'd never even been tempted to tell Natasha he loved her, even though they'd been pretty serious. His relationship with her felt like kid stuff. This, he thought, was real. He could imagine spending his life with Steve. The idea overwhelmed him, it was such an easy thought. This house, this life – it could be perfect. Just the two of them.

 _Calm down, it isn't like he said he loved you back._

That put a little damper on things. Put it into perspective. Steve might take longer to come around. At least he didn't seem freaked out by Bucky's words. Maybe he would if Bucky had said them when they weren't having sex.

"You're deep in thought," Steve commented, setting a plate in front of him. Two pancakes piled high with strawberries and blueberries and whipped cream, bacon on the side.

Bucky grabbed his fork. "Just thinking about last night. And your mouth on my cock just now." He smirked through a mouthful of food.

"You keep talking like that," Steve said, and didn't finish his sentence.

Bucky grinned.

The morning kept its leisurely pace. They didn't get on the road until nearly eleven. Cheddar sat in Bucky's lap, hanging his head out the open window with his tongue out. Bucky knew he should have Cheddar back in the carrier he'd borrowed from the shelter – that was policy, he knew, and probably a law besides, but he liked hugging Cheddar during the car ride. It put him at complete ease.

The day was warmer than Bucky expected, and not too long after they headed down the wooded trail Bucky was stuffing his flannel into his backpack. Cheddar was going crazy sniffing everything. Luckily not too many people were out today, though they passed a few and Cheddar greeted them enthusiastically. Everyone's face lit up at the eager little bulldog and Bucky found himself answering questions about him without his usual guardedness. Of course, none of the hikers were about to adopt Cheddar away from.

It was almost like Cheddar was his own dog. Almost. He knew everything about this day was impermanent and some parts were flimsy constructions of his daydreams. But when no one else was on the trail he could hold Steve's hand and imagine Steve knew he loved him, and they could be living together, just taking their dog for a nice long walk.

The trail led slightly uphill. Cheddar scrambled easily over rocks, and it wasn't until they hit the summit three hours later that Bucky noticed how tired his legs were. None of that mattered, though: the view was gorgeous. They found a seat on a flat rock and looked out at the miles of forest and town spreading about below them. Bucky took a plastic bowl out of his backpack and poured a bottle of water into it. Cheddar lapped that up before sitting on his haunches panting.

"That was a bit tougher than I thought it would be," Steve said, rubbing his knees. He peeked over at Bucky. "You barely broke a sweat."

Bucky shrugged. "I walk everywhere."

Steve nodded. "I guess I do more weight lifting than cardio."

There was a family at the summit, eating a picnic lunch, and as soon as they left, Bucky leaned over and gave Steve a little kiss. It turned into a mini make-out session on the rock there, until Cheddar interjected and slobbered on Bucky's face. "I think he's jealous," Bucky laughed.

It was just as well, because another group of hikers were coming up the trail. The walk back went faster, even with all the stops when the woods were deserted and Bucky would push Steve into a tree and kiss him fast and hot for a few minutes before casually walking away down the trail, or when Steve would latch onto Bucky's backpack and slow him down until he could lay a path of light kisses along Bucky's neck.

Back at the car, Steve asked, "You're staying at my place tonight, right?"

Of course he was. He didn't want the illusion to end.

44

 _He staggered into the road when he saw the black BMW rolling up. He'd been standing outside for an hour now, cursing Natasha, cursing his stepfather, hurling obscenities at anyone and everyone who walked by. "What the fuck you lookin' at?" he'd slurred, too drunk to even recognize people. Gradually he had sobered up, the longer he waited for his fucking stepfather._

 _Like a stalking cat it approached, engine purring. The tinted windows gave no hint but Bucky knew it was one of his stepfather's cars. His most inconspicuous. Bucky stumbled to the back door and tugged on it a few times before realizing it was locked. "Lemme in," he said to the driver._

 _With a whir, the window rolled down, and Bucky could see Pierce's face in the rearview. "I am not a fucking chauffeur," Pierce said, and rolled the window back up._

 _Bucky trudged around to the front passenger seat and got in, slumping into the seat. "Sorry," Bucky said. "My car's blocked in." He reached back for his seatbelt, got confused when he didn't feel it. "Wha—" He started to turn._

" _You won't be needing that," Pierce said, a hint of glee in his voice, as he slammed the gas pedal and the Beamer squealed off down the road._

 _Bucky fell back into his seat. As the vehicle accelerated, he found himself gripping the door handle and the arm rest. "What are you doing?" he demanded._

" _Taking care of this little problem," Pierce snapped. "I've let it go on long enough."_

 _Bucky wasn't entirely sure what his stepfather meant by that, and he was having a hard time thinking – he was still drunk, for one, still pissed about Natasha for two, and now Pierce was up around sixty miles an hour on these back country roads Bucky barely recognized – he only knew they were heading toward home._

" _Where are we going?" he asked, his voice high. He let go of the door handle long enough to try to reach for the seatbelt again._

" _We're going to have a little accident," Pierce said calmly. "You were drunk, you weren't wearing your seatbelt."_

 _He stopped reaching for what was clearly not there. He gripped the door handle again, knuckles white._

" _Defective airbag, it was nobody's fault, really."_

 _The BMW hit a long patch of road and Bucky suddenly knew where he was. Everyone got caught speeding on this road. And every year, it seemed, some drunk teenager crashed his car on the tight turn at the end of the road, just past the bright yellow sign that warned "Sharp Curve Ahead."_

" _You're fucking crazy!" Bucky said. The glowing dashboard lights showed Pierce's speed cranking up to eighty. His fingers fumbled up for the door latch, tugged on it. He'd rather jump than whatever the fuck his stepfather had planned. He pulled and pulled and nothing happened, the door wouldn't fucking open, and on his other side Pierce laughed._

" _Child-proof locks," he said smugly._

" _Fucking asshole!" Bucky screamed. "You can't do this!" He grabbed the wheel then, tried to pull it out of Pierce's steely grip, and then – Pierce just let go –_

Bucky screamed.

Lucky he was screaming into his pillow or he might have woken up Steve's neighbors half a mile away. Eyes now open, he sucked in a noisy breath and tried to slow the way his heart was hammering against his ribcage.

"Buck? You okay?"

He only had to roll his eyes a little to see Steve beside him. "Bad dream," he mumbled.

Steve slid his arms under Bucky so that Bucky now lay on top of Steve's chest, and he dropped his head down. "Your heart's beating so fast," Steve whispered into his hair. "Was it because of that movie last night?"

 _Movie?_ At first Bucky couldn't remember, because they hadn't really been watching the movie, only fucking to the soundtrack of some cheesy horror flick from the eighties. Bucky shook his head.

After a few long minutes of Steve combing Bucky's damp hair back from his forehead, he said, "Tell me about it?"

Bucky's breath hitched a little. "It was... the night of the accident." He wasn't sure he wanted to say more, but Steve didn't prod him, and he continued. "I dreamt that my stepfather crashed the car on purpose. He had rigged the car so I didn't have a seatbelt or an airbag and the door wouldn't even open so I could jump out. He... said he was taking care of a problem. I was the problem. He wanted to kill me."

"Was that what happened?"

His face crumpled against Steve's chest. "I don't know. _I don't know_. I wish I knew. I wish I _remembered_."

"You don't think it was a memory?"

"I don't see how it could be... If he had rigged the car, wouldn't somebody have figured that out instead of just saying, 'Oh, he wasn't wearing a seatbelt'? Like, in my dreams, I reach back and there isn't a seatbelt. It isn't like I just didn't put it on. There isn't a seatbelt to put on. Somebody would have noticed. Like a mechanic or somebody."

"I take it you've had this same dream before?"

Bucky exhaled. "Yeah."

"Doesn't that tell you it might be true? Even if it isn't, it could be your subconscious telling you something."

"That my stepfather wanted to kill me, yeah."

"Look." Steve sat up a little and turned Bucky to look at him. "Your stepfather has a lot of money, right? Maybe he paid somebody off. Maybe somebody did notice."

Steve had a point in those earnest blue eyes of his, but Bucky just dropped his head back down. "Maybe they did, maybe they didn't. It doesn't even matter anymore. I just wish I could stop dreaming about it."

"Dreaming, having screaming-bloody-murder nightmares, same thing," Steve said lightly.

"I'm sorry I woke you up."

"It's fine. I can't even imagine having nightmares like that all the time." He kissed Bucky's head.

"I'm just glad we brought Cheddar back to the shelter last night," Bucky said, sitting up and rubbing his face. He had wanted to keep Cheddar overnight, but then he worried that he'd be breaking some kind of shelter policy – knew he'd be breaking it, in fact. He couldn't imagine how the little dog would react to one of Bucky's screaming nightmares.

Of course, every time Bucky had slept in Cheddar's cage, he'd been nightmare-free. So maybe that wouldn't have been an issue.

It was only after they had gotten showered and dressed that Bucky started to get nervous about meeting Steve's family. "You're sure it's okay that I don't have a birthday present for you?" he asked.

Steve laughed. "It's fine. Seriously, this party is super early. My birthday isn't for two more weeks."

Even so, that was only two weeks for Bucky to figure out the perfect present. Given his limited cash and the fact that he'd never bought a romantic present for a guy before, it made him more than a little anxious.

The anxiety followed him all the way to Steve's aunt and uncle's house. He had brought his stuff so Steve could drop him at Nat's after the cookout, and as they got out of the car, Bucky grabbed his flannel from his backpack and started to shrug it on. So many cars were here already.

"You don't need that," Steve said, snatching the flannel out of his hands.

Bucky frowned and rubbed his arm. "I'm a little cold. I can wear one of my new shirts."

"It's almost ninety degrees out." Steve threw the shirt into the car through the open window. "Come on." Steve took Bucky's left hand in his, so that his big bicep hid Bucky's scars. He squeezed Bucky's hand gently. "You don't need it, okay?" he said softly.

It wasn't just to hide his arm. That flannel was his armor. "I guess."

Steve turned his face with his other hand and said, "They're gonna love you. Don't worry." After a briefly lingering kiss, Steve tugged Bucky toward the front door.

The house was a cute little Cape painted a weathered shade of red, with white trim and a blue front door. Steve walked in without knocking.

"Aunt Sue," Steve said, dropping Bucky's hand briefly so he could hug a petite woman with shoulder-length hair the color of graying honey.

Over Steve's shoulder, Aunt Sue spied Bucky. "Oh, is this your friend?"

Bucky smiled nervously. "Hi," he said.

Steve released his aunt and stepped back. "Yup, this is Bucky," Steve said like that should sum it up. "Buck, this is my Aunt Sue."

"Nice to meet you," Bucky said, holding out his hand.

Aunt Sue ignored his hand and pulled him into a hug. "We like hugs here, Bucky."

So different from his own family. Occasions like this would have been formal, handshakes and air kisses and fake smiles.

"Everyone's out back already," Aunt Sue said. "I'm just finishing up in here."

"You want helping bringing this stuff out?" Steve gestured to the trays of food: lunch meat, potato salad, and a veggie platter, among others.

"If you don't mind, boys."

Steve grabbed a couple of trays while Bucky took just one, nervous that his shaking hand would drop it and ruin everything. He followed Steve through the house to a sliding glass door that led onto a back deck where chairs had been set up. The grill was going and after Bucky set down his platter, he was hugging Uncle Chester who also made a remark about Bucky being Steve's "new friend." He was beginning to think Steve wasn't as out to his family as he thought, until Steve introduced him to some cousins of his, Cassie, Billy, and Teddy. "Is this your new boyfriend, Uncle Steve?" Cassie asked.

"I'm not really her uncle," Steve told Bucky.

"Yeah, yeah," Cassie said, waving him away. "The aunties will be excited that you've found someone."

Steve jokingly raised a warning finger. "Don't you start."

"The aunties?" Bucky asked.

"My great-aunts. And one uncle, too, but we just call them all the aunties. I wasn't going to even bother introducing you..."

"Stevie! Yoo-hoo!" The voice came from a white-haired woman dressed in pastel green, sitting in the shade with a blanket on her lap. "Stevie!" There were two others beside her, nearly identical, in varying shades of pastel.

"Those," Steve said, "are the aunties."

"Have fun!" Cassie teased with a wave.

Steve took Bucky's hand and brought him over. "I have explained to them the situation," Steve said. "Just know that they still don't seem to get it."

"Stevie!"

"Aunt Roberta!" he said loudly when they were close enough. He greeted each of the women with hugs.

"Everyone, this is my boyfriend Bucky," Steve announced. "Bucky, this is Aunt Roberta, Aunt Tessa, and Aunt Miriam."

"Hi," Bucky said with a little wave.

"Stevie," said Aunt Miriam. "Have you found a nice girl yet? You need to settle down! Get married!"

Steve gave Bucky a look. "I'm not looking for a girl, Aunt Miriam. Remember? I like boys. I'm dating Bucky."

Bucky wasn't so sure he liked how this conversation was going.

"You can't marry a boy!" Aunt Tessa interjected.

In a tired voice, Steve told the aunties all about current legislatures and how, in fact, yes, two men could get married. Yet when he had finished talking, Aunt Roberta said, "Stevie, you are too handsome to not have a woman at your side!"

"They're a little senile," Steve said, eventually giving up the fight. "I don't know why I bother."

But Bucky liked that Steve had bothered. He liked that Steve would rather explain gay marriage for twenty minutes rather than pretend Bucky was simply his friend.

After hotdogs and hamburgers from the grill, and a fair hour of sitting around digesting and talking and listening to what a happy, close-knit family sounded like, Aunt Sue brought out Steve's cake, topped with sparklers. "Always," Steve whispered to Bucky. "Always with the fireworks." Bucky laughed.

He paid attention to the kinds of gifts Steve was given to open while Aunt Sue served the cake. A lot of houseware, things Steve must have asked for, as well as things like gift cards. From Uncle Chester and Aunt Sue there was a gift certificate to a spa. "A couples massage," Aunt Sue said with a wink. Bucky blushed, although all that was lost on the aunties, thankfully.

Bucky leaned back in his lawn chair. He had no idea what he was going to get for Steve.

45

The week passed largely without event. Bucky spent his nights alone working the gas station on his phone, texting Steve between searching other local animal shelters and sites like Craigslist for German shepherds. While he thought a dog might not be an appropriate gift for someone he'd been seeing for only a month or so, he still wanted to help Steve find a dog he could adopt.

On Thursday, however, he began to think seriously about adopting Cheddar.

When he walked into the shelter Thursday afternoon, he was confronted by a lot of avoided eye contact - something he probably wouldn't have noticed a month ago. No one said much to him until Nick said, "Barnes, can I see you in my office?"

Bucky had no idea what he might have done wrong. He'd been wearing his new clothes, following policy, and most definitely _not_ sleeping in Cheddar's cage, so he felt more bewildered than nervous heading into Nick's office.

Nick shut the door. "Have a seat," he said, his voice somber.

Nick then explained that they'd had to euthanize Pocket that morning. "I know you've been working with him," Nick said. "Unfortunately, he's been here three months, and we had to assess his potential to be adopted..."

The rest of Nick's words fell on deaf ears as Bucky tried to process this information. Pocket was gone? Pocket, who he'd fed last night. Pocket, who Bucky had been seriously training for the last four weeks, ever since he bit Steve. In his head he knew it had been almost inevitable that Pocket would be put down, yet he couldn't quite accept that it had finally happened.

"Why?" Bucky asked, cutting Nick off mid-sentence. "Did something happen? Did he bite someone?"

"You know as well as I do that he's always been aggressive," Nick said gently.

"But I mean, you just killed him for no reason?" Bucky demanded.

Nick took Bucky's tone in stride. "Animals that demonstrate aggressive tendencies often need to be euthanized. You knew this coming in, Barnes. Pocket demonstrated food bowl aggression and attempted to bite both an unfamiliar handler and Maria."

"Attempted means he didn't actually bite them!"

"It's a display of aggression," Nick repeated. "We cannot in good conscience place him in a home." Bucky took a breath to say something else, but Nick raised his hand. "I wish we were a no-kill shelter. We all love animals here, and I know you were doing your best. You made good headway with him. None of this reflects as a failure on your part. It's a failure of the system, okay?" He stood up and moved toward the door. Bucky remained sitting, feeling shell-shocked. "I want you take as much time as you need. If you feel like you need to go home, just let me know and we'll figure out coverage for tonight."

With a quiet click, Nick shut the door behind him.

Bucky couldn't leave work. He needed to focus on the dogs that were still here, especially Cheddar. What if the shelter decided Cheddar was unadoptable? After he slunk out of Nick's office with red eyes, he had given each animal special attention, telling them he was going to somehow make sure they found good homes, until he got to his special friend. By then it was nearly closing time, and Bucky curled up with Cheddar on his lap, wishing more than anything that he could take Cheddar home with him and keep him safe.

If he could convince Steve to adopt Cheddar, Steve would protect him. Bucky could visit Cheddar all he wanted... so long as Bucky and Steve were still dating. Even if Bucky had allowed himself fantasies of marrying Steve when he'd been explaining gay marriage to the aunties, he knew there was a possibility that things between them wouldn't get that far. That in a few months, years, hell even next week or days from now, they could break up for some reason Bucky couldn't foresee. They could break up for one big reason Bucky _could_ foresee. And then what would happen to Cheddar? Would Steve keep him, and Bucky would lose both his boyfriend and his pet? Or would Steve give him to Bucky, and having no place to keep him, Bucky would be forced to return Cheddar to the shelter?

So, Bucky started looking for apartments that allowed dogs.

He scratched out a budget lying on his bed, texting Steve about Pocket.

 _you okay? you want me to come over?_

Bucky figured with his mom covering his health insurance, and working a second job, he might have enough to scrape by.

 _it's late... I know you have work tomorrow_

 _I can just sleep over :)_

The problem was, there weren't many places in Springfield available for rent, in Bucky's price range, and willing to allow dogs. Bucky scrawled down a list of phone numbers to call tomorrow that hadn't specified "no pets" or "cats only."

 _then get your ass over here! :)_

He stared at his notes and wondered if he couldn't just try to convince Natasha.

When he heard Steve's car in the driveway, he jumped up from his bed and ran downstairs.

"Hey, sexy," Nat said.

That was when Bucky remembered he was only wearing his silk boxers. "Oh, uh, sorry. Hey, Steve's coming over, is that okay?"

Nat rolled her eyes. "You don't have to ask permission," she said.

"He might sleep over?"

"It's fine, nerd," Nat said. "I was just going to call Bruce. Maybe I'll see if he minds me going over there for the night."

"Are you guys ready for that?"

There was a knock on the door then, and Bucky stepped over to let Steve in. He had a small duffel bag in hand. "Hey," Steve said to both of them, then looked down at Bucky. "Hey," he said again, his voice lower.

"Oh, that reminds me," Nat said. "You guys wanna go to a concert tomorrow night? Double header - Glamora and... shit, what's Pete calling his band now? Something-Rangers."

"Power Rangers?" Steve guessed.

"The Cosmic Rangers? Something like that. Whatever, it'll change next week. You guys wanna go?"

Bucky and Steve looked at each other. "Could be fun," Steve said.

"Uh, what about Bruce?" Bucky asked. "Would he... be okay? I mean, I'm just guessing he's going too?"

"Yeah," Nat said. "I kinda thought it'd be good to clear the air. I already talked it over with him, and he wants to prove to Steve here that he's not a bad guy."

Steve shrugged. "Sure. Everyone deserves a second chance."

"Okay," Bucky said. He knew it would be awkward, at least at first, but if everything worked out then that would really help ease the tension. Bucky knew he'd been avoiding bringing Steve around Natasha for that reason. "Uh, have fun with Bruce tonight," he said, and headed back up the stairs.

As soon as they were out of Nat's line of sight, Bucky felt a little pinch on his ass and almost tripped on a step. He laughed and slapped Steve's hand away playfully. Just that little contact made a tent in his boxers.

"Sorry it's hot in here," he said, letting Steve pass through the door before closing it. There was a fan in the window, but it was still pretty hot.

Steve dropped his bag. "You cleaned," he said, looking around.

Bucky flopped down on the bed and tugged on the bottom of Steve's shorts until Steve sat down too. "Yeah, I tried, anyway. Probably would help to have some furniture." He leaned in and kissed Steve's neck, which smelled of cologne, which led him to taste Steve's neck up and down while Steve sighed softly.

"You said Nat's staying over at Bruce's?" Steve asked.

"I think so," Bucky said. "She was going to call him."

So they made out for a while, each vaguely listening for the door to slam downstairs or a car to start up in the driveway behind the sound of the fan. Steve ran his hands up Bucky's torso absently, his neck arching to allow Bucky's attentions. Bucky's lips sucked little bruises on Steve's broad shoulders, and he ran his tongue along the spots where Steve would need to shave tomorrow morning. He liked how hot Steve's hands were, the way Steve's thumb brushed over his nipple and made it pebble up. Steve repeated the motion, his touch so light that Bucky pushed his chest into Steve's hands and sucked a hickey right on Steve's clavicle.

Bucky had to keep himself from moaning as Steve's fingers explored his back and chest. Steve traced along every vertebra, reminding Bucky of that time with the ice cube, only now instead of cold it was hot, yet he arched his back all the same, wanting Steve to go lower. It seemed Steve was biding his time, letting Bucky do all the work of kissing.

Taking Steve's head, Bucky turned it and attacked Steve's ear, sucking on the soft lobe. He snapped his teeth against Steve's sideburn before kissing him roughly in a line until he got to Steve's mouth. When Steve didn't respond as aggressively as Bucky wanted, Bucky readjusted himself so he was kneeling on the mattress. "Are you okay?" Bucky asked.

"I was hoping you were okay," Steve said. He moved his hands up so they rested lightly on Bucky's shoulder blades. "You're okay?"

"Yeah," Bucky said. "I mean, it's been a rough day, but... I'm glad you're here."

Steve smiled. "Okay. I thought you might want to talk about it."

Bucky shrugged a little. "I'm... all talked out, I think," he said. "And you're okay? I don't mind if you need to talk about something. Remember?"

"Yeah," Steve said. "I guess I was just more worried about you than I thought. And sometimes that freaks me out."

"Why does that freak you out?"

Steve closed his eyes, and let his forehead fall against Bucky's. "I don't know. When you texted me I just wanted to rush over here and get my arms around you and never let you go. And it was just... too intense. It's hard to keep my hands off of you."

"Then don't." Bucky pushed forward to press his lips against Steve's. "I don't want you to let me go."

For a few moments Steve was silent. "I think..." Steve said, and stopped. In the quiet, they both heard the door downstairs open and close, and shortly after, the growl of Nat's car starting up. As her headlights flooded the room and slid away, Bucky and Steve remained motionless, listening and waiting for something else.

The silence, it seemed, was the signal. Steve's arms snaked around Bucky's back, gripping him like a vice, pressing their bodies together, Bucky's hips sliding up against Steve's abdomen. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve's neck and their mouths opened and each tried to swallow the other, tongues thrashing. Backwards they went, Steve on top. Bucky's weight trapped Steve's arms beneath him and for now he couldn't escape Bucky's hungry lips. Naturally Bucky's legs clamped around Steve's waist so Steve could feel how good and hard Bucky was, even through two layers of clothing.

If Bucky had stopped to think about it, he might have understood that the overwhelming lust he was feeling came from a place of sadness, and a need to feel something good – a counterbalance. Bucky wasn't thinking much at all. He let his body find what it needed. It needed Steve.

Hips grinding, Bucky's cock feeling sore and rubbed out already, yet when Steve reached down and squeezed him there, through his silk underwear, Bucky ached for more, thrusting up against Steve's palm. "Harder," Bucky growled through clenched teeth. Steve did as he was told, fingers closing around Bucky's cock, and that pain sent starbursts winking through his vision.

Steve's fingers dug at the thin layer of fabric separating them from Bucky's skin. Gripping Bucky's ass cheeks and pulling that them, digging down into the groove. Madly Bucky rubbed his dick against muscles hard as bone.

"You got any lube?" Steve managed to say between breaths. He lifted his head to scan the top of the crate and the floor around the bed.

Bucky came up for air where he'd been biting Steve's shoulder through his shirt. "Nuh-uh, lotion?" he gasped. "On the fridge."

"Got some in my bag," Steve panted, but it was clear neither of them wanted to untwine themselves. The rough grinding went on for several more minutes until Bucky thought his dick might go raw.

"Gotta. Get. It," Bucky choked out.

Steve made a grunting sound. Rather than let go, he shoved his hands under Bucky again and lifted him up. Bucky clung to him as he inched over toward the bag. Even as Steve bent over to reach into his bag, Bucky dragged up the back of Steve's t-shirt, his nails leaving little trails, so that when Steve sat up, all he had to do was duck his blond hair and the shirt popped off, and Bucky clawed at the fabric until Steve had disentangled his arms.

Now Steve flopped back on the bed and while Bucky licked his chest and clawed at Steve's suddenly complicated fly, Steve squirted lube into his hand. Steve's kicking legs and wriggling hips did little to help, and in frustration Bucky stood up and grabbed the ankles and pulled those pants right off in one motion.

The underwear got caught on Steve's erection, but that was a small matter, because Bucky was already on his back, ripping off his boxers and drawing his legs up to his chest, offering himself up for Steve. He was ready, he was so ready. With little fanfare, Steve inserted three fingers of one hand up to the knuckles, while the other yanked down his own boxers. Bucky made a keening sound as Steve worked around inside, managing to slip all four fingers in the tight hole.

His bad hand holding his leg began to shake badly. It was hard work trying to keep himself in a tight little ball – his legs wanted to kick out, and Bucky had bear down to try to keep from exploding in a stream of hot come. Steve worked fast, getting himself slicked up, and once he was ready, he stuck his dick in alongside several fingers. "Oh _fuck_ ," Bucky wailed, then the sweat made holding his leg with his bad hand impossible, and the limb kicked out, nearly hitting Steve in the face.

Steve dodged like he'd been expecting it, and held onto Bucky's ankle, wrestling Bucky's other ankle from him. What Steve did next forced Bucky to reach up behind him to put his hands against the wall to stop from hitting it. By his ankles Steve lifted Bucky's ass up off the mattress and bent him in half. Steve was standing now, albeit in a bit of a crouch, and could thrust freely.

The feeling was incredible. Each time Steve was slamming into Bucky's sweet spot. He didn't have to do anything; Steve was holding him up and Bucky only had to keep his head from slamming into the wall. As it went on, this became harder, because Bucky's muscles were going all wobbly. His head hit a couple times, he didn't even care about the dull thumps against his skull, but Steve hauled him back until he was a safe distance from the wall before he continued pumping into Bucky's ass. Oh, the stretch felt so good, every inch of Steve's shaft sliding through. In the back of his head he realized Steve wasn't wearing a condom. In that moment he couldn't care less. It felt so much better without even that little layer separating them.

He was getting close, could tell by how fast Steve was pounding his ass that he was close too. He lifted one hand, his bad hand, away from the wall to stroke himself.

"No," Steve gasped. "I want you to come without that."

"Okay," Bucky panted, returning his hand to wall, because really, it had been a tenuous few seconds without both of his hands to keep from slamming back into the wall. He was bent over so he could see his own dick nearly above him, hard against his stomach.

Steve changed up his rhythm. He pushed himself in deeper with each thrust, until Steve's balls were pressed up against his ass and Bucky could feel something deep inside him coming into contact with the tip of Steve's cock, then Steve slid out and did the same, only leaning his weight in. Bucky couldn't even make a sound – his mouth opened and stuttering breaths came out. The next thrusts were shallow, slamming into his sweet spot so hard and fast Bucky couldn't catch his breath. His dick throbbed, a drop beading out and dropping onto his chest.

He had a split second to understand what was going to happen before it actually did.

He came so hard it was like a pressurized hose. He came all over himself, splashing up his chest and neck and more than a little hitting him in the face and open mouth. It wasn't a brief spurt – this was ten seconds of come streaming out of his cock.

Steve made a strangled sound of pleasure in his throat, bored down on Bucky's legs, and then Bucky felt Steve come into his ass unlike any of the times before. It filled him up. He could feel Steve's dick pumping it out, and Bucky shuddered beneath him, still reeling in his own orgasm.

When it was over Steve released him, and Bucky's legs flopped down and open. He didn't even bother to wipe off his face. Steve's eyelids drooped in that sleepy way they always did after sex. "You look fucking hot... come all over your face," Steve moaned, and began crawling up Bucky's body. "I'm gonna lick you clean... 'fore I fall 'sleep..."

Steve did his best. His tongue worked clumsily, and Bucky laughed as it bathed his cheeks and lips and even a little that had landed on his nose. He himself was feeling sleepy, the whole day of emotional lows and highs finally hitting him. Bucky knew Steve wouldn't stay awake long enough to finish the job. Somewhere around licking Bucky's nipple clean, Steve's head came to rest on Bucky's chest, and just like that, he fell asleep.

Bucky took a little longer, wanting to lay and card through Steve's hair, but his eyes drifted shut soon after, and he slept the whole night without dreaming.

46

Steve's morning breath didn't bother him. Neither did the crust of salt on his chest, or the sweat from sleeping in a hot room with a sweaty body on top of him. All he had to do was remember how Steve had made his toes curl last night and he would gladly suffer.

"Does Nat have any coffee?" Steve grumbled, staggering back into the room from the shower with just a pink towel wrapped around his waist.

"Yeah. Always," Bucky said. "Or if you have time before work, we could stop someplace." He didn't know why he had said "we." Bucky didn't have to be into work until two. "You don't have to drive me back home. I've been meaning to go to the library."

"What time is it?"

"Seven forty-five."

"Yeah, let's do that."

Bucky stood up and stretched. "Let me shower real quick and we can go."

Under the stream of hot water he scrubbed himself clean. Somehow he had gotten some clumped in his hair. He rinsed it out using one of Nat's shampoos, then quickly toweled off and returned to the bedroom to get dressed.

"You usually walk around the house bare-assed?" Steve said, slapping Bucky as he walked by.

Bucky grinned. "No, no way. But Nat's not here, so I can do what I want." He put on the Radiohead t-shirt with a pair of dark jeans. He remembered even seven years ago those jeans had cost over a hundred dollars a pair. How much would they cost now? "This would be alright to wear to the concert tonight, right?" he asked Steve.

"Sure," said Steve. He looked down at his own outfit, khakis and a blue collared shirt. He had a silver tie draped around his neck, not yet knotted. "I'm going to have to change."

Bucky agreed, though he certainly appreciated how nice Steve looked in a tie. He hurried to throw on his boots and grabbed his wallet and keys so Steve wouldn't be late to work.

At the Starbucks, surrounded by the early morning crush of business commuters, Bucky felt clearly how opposite he and Steve were. He didn't have to rush into work. He didn't have to wear a tie, either. Steve looked perfectly comfortable dressed professionally. At least Bucky didn't look like a homeless person, but he knew he didn't look like he was going anywhere in life.

Oblivious to Bucky's thoughts, Steve said, "What are you gonna do at the library?"

Bucky snapped to attention. "Oh, I just have some books to renew. I was thinking about looking into getting my GED." _Where had that come from?_ Bucky felt utterly transparent. He felt inferior next to all these professionals who had their shit together. It wasn't like Bucky hadn't thought at all about getting his GED these past few weeks – he'd need it to become a vet tech – but it hadn't even factored into the plans he had sketched out just last night.

"Really? That's great," Steve said, bumping Bucky with his shoulder. "I'm sure it won't be hard for you. You were only a month away from graduating."

"I wasn't exactly the best student," Bucky muttered. Then there were his memory problems.

"Hey, you'll be fine. I can be your study buddy." Steve gave him a wide smile.

Once they got their coffees, they wandered out of the crowded shop and stood by Steve's car. Bucky took a long swallow of his frappuccino. Instead of drinking his, Steve tapped the side of the cardboard cup and said, "I didn't use a condom last night."

Bucky glanced around, but there wasn't anyone close enough to hear. "I know," he said.

"I just... I should have at least asked you before I did that," Steve said. "I don't know what came over me."

"Don't worry about it," Bucky said. "I could have asked you to and I didn't. It's fine. I mean, you don't... have an STD or anything, do you?"

Steve shook his head. "No. Not that I know of. I should probably get tested. I mean, I usually use protection. So I should be fine, right?"

"I'm not worried," Bucky said lightly.

"I should have put one on," Steve said again. "I've told you my history. And now I put you in danger."

"Stop," Bucky said. "It's fine. I'm not worried about it. Just make an appointment."

Steve looked frustrated, but finally pushed himself off the side of his car. "It won't happen again until I get tested, okay?" He hugged Bucky with his free hand and kissed him.

"Okay," Bucky said. "Have a good day at work."

"I'll just come to your place after I get out and stop home? Around six, six-thirty?"

"Sounds good."

One more kiss, and Steve got into his car. Bucky waved him off, then headed down toward Bridge Street. He wanted to talk to Nat. The record store didn't open until ten, and he could make a quick stop at the library before then.

While waiting for the library to open, Bucky unfolded the bit of paper in his pocket and called the numbers he'd written down last night. Five numbers, and five no's. One would have been okay with a small dog, but when Bucky said he had a bulldog, the landlord said he couldn't allow it. Bucky stared at the paper in his hand. Maybe Clint knew of an apartment for rent in his building. When the library opened and Bucky could go inside, he grabbed a pen and made a note to ask Clint about that.

He looked up from his notes and was about to head to the computers when he saw her. Smooth brown ponytail, purple hoodie, earbuds plugged in, typing furiously on her phone, sitting in one of the reading chairs. She didn't even see him until he was standing over her. "You're blocking my light, buddy," she said without looking up.

"Hi Kate," he said.

Finally she looked at him, and her eyes went wide with surprise for a brief second before recovering. "Oh, hey, _Bucky_." She snickered.

"Are you coming to the concert tonight?" he asked conversationally.

Without missing a beat she said, "Yeah, of course."

"That's interesting," Bucky said. "Maybe you'll finally get to meet Clint."

She scoffed. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Look, I know you're homeless or whatever. You don't have to lie."

"I'm not homeless!" Kate hissed. She glanced around. "Look, okay, technically I don't have a permanent address. So what?"

"So? So apparently Clint doesn't know you exist. I hope you actually took care of Lucky that weekend, after you lied to me and told me you were his girlfriend. I hope you didn't leave an injured animal to fend for itself—"

"Of course I took care of him," Kate snapped. "You don't know anything about me."

Bucky narrowed his eyes. "I do know that you are not Clint Barton's girlfriend."

"Fine. Fine! You got me. I lied, okay? What are you gonna do about it?"

"Nothing," Bucky said. He wasn't exactly sure where he'd been going with this. "Are you really coming to the concert tonight?"

Kate rolled her eyes. "No."

"Well, if you should decide to come, it's over at The Garage. Starts at 8. Clint will be there, if you're interested in meeting him."

"Why would I want to meet him," Kate said, looking at her phone.

"Somehow I think the two of you would get along." He didn't wait to hear what she had to say. He headed for the computers and logged in so he could look up stuff about the GED. He figured he'd probably need to take a class before taking the test.

"So let me get this straight. You want to set me up with your friend Clint?"

Bucky didn't looked away from the computer screen. "Basically."

"You don't think he'd be mad that I've been living there sometimes?"

"Has he locked the window by his fire escape yet?"

Kate wrapped the cord of her earbuds around her fingers. "No."

"Then he's not mad." Bucky looked over at her. "That's the kind of guy he is. A little random, a bit of a mess... sound like someone you know?"

"Okay... but what if he decides he wants to kick my ass for eating his cereal or whatever?"

"If it comes to that, I'll protect you."

"You? With that fucked up arm of yours?" Kate said, then added quickly. "Sorry, but I saw those scars. Anyway, I can take care of myself. I'm just saying, you need to introduce me. I'm not going to walk up to this guy and introduce myself. 'Hi, I'm the homeless person living at your apartment.'"

"Sure. If you show up, I'll introduce you."

"You taking the GED?" Kate asked, leaning over the keyboard.

"None of your business!" Bucky said.

"They have online practice tests you can take. Like, for free."

Bucky looked at her. "Seriously?"

Kate smiled and batted her eyes. "Would this face lie to you?"

"Yes," Bucky replied.

"Okay, fine, but I'm not lying about this." Kate showed him the practice tests on the library's website. "See? You can take the practice tests here. The GED class down at the community college is like a hundred dollars, and that's about as much as it costs to take the actual test."

Bucky scrolled through the website. "Wow. This is... really awesome. Thanks."

"Yeah, well, now you owe me. See you tonight."

A few hours later Bucky entered the music store with a chai latte for Natasha. The place was deserted. Natasha sat behind the counter reading a magazine, which she stashed the second she heard the bell ring. "Oh, it's just you," she said, pulling her magazine out again. "Oooh, that for me?"

"Yup."

"To what do I owe this honor?"

Bucky shrugged. "I feel like I haven't had a chance to talk to you this week," he said. "I have a few hours before work, so I figured I'd stop by."

"Lucky me," Nat said. She blew into the cup and took a sip.

"So you slept at Bruce's last night?"

"Yup." Nat broke into a grin. She told him some of the stuff Bruce had told her, which Bucky already knew from support group. She was back to being the old Nat, and he made a comment about it. "Yeah, it's the sex. I need it to feel normal, I think." With a laugh, she said, "You're the same way, I think."

"What makes you say that?"

"Please. When we were together, we could have fucked all day, no problem. And now that you're getting busy with Steve... How is he in bed? I bet he could go all night."

"Maybe," Bucky said.

"Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?"

"Well, he basically falls asleep right after he comes."

Nat sat back and laughed. "Oh, I did not see that one. Seriously? Well, not much you can do about that, I guess. If you can keep him from coming, he could probably fuck for hours though, yeah?"

"Maybe." Bucky couldn't help but think about _that_.

"Anyway, I'm just saying you're much happier now," Nat said, "And I'm glad. Hey, I haven't seen that t-shirt in a long time..."

Bucky told her about how he'd visited his mom.

"Shut up! Shut. The fuck. Up. You called your mom? _You visited your mom?_ And I'm only just hearing about this now?"

"That's why I said it felt like I'd barely seen you."

"So what happened?"

He rehashed the whole story between the sporadic customers. "I'm pissed at my stepfather, obviously, but I'm actually kinda mad at my mom too. All this time, and she never really tried to contact me. Like, if she thought I had left on my own thinking it was fault, why didn't she try harder to tell him it wasn't? She sent me that sweater on my birthday three years ago. And that was it." He'd said all this at support group too. He'd been surprised at how many people had felt similar anger at their non-abusive parent, simply for allowing the abuse to happen.

"I don't blame you," Nat said. "But who knows what Pierce told her. He's a fucking liar. Fucking smug bastard. Speaking of which, does Steve know his new boss is your asshole stepfather?"

Bucky's shoulders slumped. "No. I can't figure out how to tell him."

"But... you've told him about the stuff your stepfather did?"

"Some of it..." Bucky dropped his face into his hands. "I just don't want him to lose his job because of me. Either quitting to, I don't know, defend me, somehow, or actually attacking my stepfather."

"You think Steve would do that? Never mind. Just remembered how he body-slammed my boyfriend. And he hadn't even met me. Okay, I see the dilemma."

"What should I do?"

"At some point you just have to tell him."

Bucky traced one of the stickers on the desk with his thumbnail. "What if he's mad and wants to break up with me?"

"Then he's an asshole. Look, it sucks, and it was super bad timing that he got the job there before you could tell him about your stepfather, but if Steve doesn't see that you're worth it, he's a fuckhead. End of story."

Bucky felt better when he left the music store to head into work. He still didn't want to tell Steve the truth. Steve didn't have to know just yet, did he?

47

"You want some eyeliner?" Nat asked from the bathroom.

"No," Bucky said. He had his flannel and his wallet and he was ready to go whenever Steve got there. Steve had texted _Heading to your place now_ a couple minutes ago.

"You sure?" Nat cocked her head. "Come on, a little guyliner never hurt anyone."

"I don't know if Steve would be into that."

"Who cares? I'd be into that. Remember that Halloween you went as the Mad Hatter?"

"I almost forgot about that." Nat had gone as the Red Queen, her hair curled and piled on top of her head. She had glued playing cards to a barely-there tutu and had a black corset and fishnet tights. His costume had been a bit more tame, a plaid sports coat with pinstriped pants, a giant polka-dotted bow around his neck, and of course, a top hat. Nat had done his makeup that night.

Nat approached him with the eyeliner pencil.

"I don't know..."

"We're going to a concert! Come on. You're gonna look so hot Steve won't be able to keep his hands offa you."

"You think so?" Bucky stepped into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror.

"Sit down," Nat said, flipping down the toilet seat.

With Natasha standing so close to him, her fingers tugging lightly at the skin around his eyes, he felt something he hadn't felt for a long time around her. He shifted slightly during the moments when she pulled the pencil away. _Do not get a boner_ , he told himself sternly. _Stop it._

It was hard to completely pack away his feelings for her sometimes. He could remember her smell, her taste, what she liked, what she didn't, the particular things she did for him that Steve would never do, or even be able to do.

"Done," she announced, and he was relieved to find himself not fully aroused. Not enough for anyone to notice, anyway. "Fuck, you look hot. If Steve does not immediately start fucking your ass, there's something wrong with him."

Bucky stood and looked at himself again. He still looked unsure and worried, but there was something dark and mysterious behind that now.

"Look, if he doesn't like it, I will personally go into the bathroom with you and help you wash it off," Nat said.

He nodded. Then gave himself a sexy smirk in the mirror after Nat left. He hoped Steve would like it.

And like it he did. Even while they waited for Bruce to show up to drive Nat – they could have all gone together, but since Bucky was going to stay overnight at Steve's and Nat was going over to Bruce's, they had decided to take different cars – Steve couldn't keep his hands off Bucky. "Mmm, you look _good_ ," Steve breathed into Bucky's ear when they hugged hello, then his hand was crawling up the back of Bucky's shirt, sneaking into his back pocket and squeezing Bucky's ass. Bucky laughed and tried to avoid making Natasha feel too awkward. Natasha knew what was going on. The smirk on her face said, _See? Told ya_.

It helped make Bucky feel less anxious about Bruce's arrival. "So," Nat said, letting Bruce into the house. "Bruce, I'd like to _formally_ introduce you to Steve, Bucky's boyfriend. He has promised there will be no tackling this evening."

Bruce smiled tightly and shook Steve's hand, which Steve had reluctantly removed from Bucky's pocket. "Hey," Bruce said.

"I'm so sorry about all that," Steve said. "It was totally a misunderstanding, from what I've been told."

Bruce nodded, and his eyes flickered over to Bucky. "Hey," he said.

Bucky smiled. "Let's go," Nat said.

In the car, Steve was on Bucky before he'd even shut the door. "We're following them," Bucky tried to say with Steve's tongue in his mouth.

"I know how to get there."

Bucky let Steve get a few good kisses in, then pushed him away slightly. "Come on, you're gonna get me all horny." Bucky was already hard.

"I'll suck you off right now." Steve licked at Bucky's jaw.

"As tempting as that is, we should probably wait until after," Bucky said. He was breathing hard. If Steve didn't stop, Bucky wasn't going to be able to put him off until after.

"Okay. Okay." Steve said that a few times, punctuating each with a kiss on Bucky's neck. "Okay." Finally he slid back over and adjusted the front of his jeans. "Okay."

Bucky bit his lip, doing some shifting of the goods as well.

They made it to the club a few minutes behind Nat and Bruce, and joined them in line. Clint wasn't there yet. "You guys made it," Nat said with a smirk.

Bucky couldn't hide his smile. Steve had his arms around Bucky from behind.

Once inside, he and Nat grabbed a table while Steve and Bruce headed to the bar to get drinks – "You think they'll be okay?" Bucky worried, and Nat said, "They're big boys. They'll be fine" – and they settled in, looking for Clint among the people entering.

Bucky was already done his first beer by the time Clint rolled in, and he hadn't yet seen Kate. Well, he couldn't really expect her to show. In the same situation, he probably wouldn't.

The lights dimmed and neon lights flashed on the stage, as Glamora entered. Mora wore a neon green bob-cut wig and glow bracelets with her sequined black outfit. The other band members wore similar outfits in different colors. Their band had an eighties-techno sound and a happy pop music vibe that seemed at odds with Mora's resting bitch face, but on stage she reeked of Jem and the Holograms. The cartoon had been her inspiration, and everything about it worked. Bucky found himself nodding his head to the synthesized drumbeat. Nat and Clint rushed the stage toward the end of the set and jammed out.

The house lights came back up and there was a little rush for the bathrooms and the bar, but Steve had gotten them all another round at some point during the show. Bucky was feeling buzzed and he'd only noticed Steve's roaming hands gone for a few minutes before Steve touched a cold bottle against his face.

He took the beer and reached his arm up to place his palm on the back of Steve's neck to pull him in for a kiss. Steve accepted greedily, and Bucky pushed his tongue in as deep as he could, licking at the inside of Steve's mouth. They sucked at each other long enough that Nat and Clint had returned to the table before they pulled apart sheepishly.

Then Bucky saw a flash of purple, and he bolted from Steve's arms with a quick, "Be right back!" before plunging into the crowd.

He caught up to Kate as she was heading for the door. "Hey!" he shouted over the loud house music.

"Oh, hi!" she shouted back. "I didn't see you! I was just about to leave!"

"You still want to meet Clint?" he yelled in her ear.

She nodded.

He led her back to the table. Nat, Bruce, and Clint looked up curiously, while Steve raised his eyebrows. _What are you doing?_ he mouthed to Bucky.

"Kate, this is Natasha, Bruce, and Clint!" He turned to her to make sure she got that. "Clint!" he shouted, pointing at him. He couldn't tell by her face what she thought of him. Clint looked like Clint, which meant he had a row of butterfly bandages on his temple and a greenish bruise on his jaw, and he was wearing an old t-shirt.

"Hi!" Clint said back, slowly understanding that he was being introduced to a girl.

Bucky leaned in to yell into Clint's ear, "This is Kate!"

When he stood up, he saw a swarm of expressions cross Clint's face: confusion, anger, interest, excitement, more confusion... Kate stood there, hands in her back pockets, rocking a little on her feet and waiting to see which expression Clint would settle on.

"Kate?" Natasha asked him. "This is Kate?"

Now Natasha was sizing her up. Steve leaned in and asked, "What's going on?"

Finally Clint stood up, and reached out his hand. "Nice to meet you! Want a drink?"

Kate smiled in relief, and they headed to the bar together.

"What the fuck?" Natasha squealed as they left. "Seriously? That's the girl?" She elbowed Bruce. "That's the girl who's been living in Clint's apartment!"

"Oh!" Bruce said, now understanding.

"Where did you find her?" Nat asked.

Bucky did his best to tell them about finding her at the library that morning and inviting her along. By the end his voice was hoarse, and Clint was heading back to the table with Kate in tow. Both had doofy smiles on their faces.

"Bucky the matchmaker," Steve said as the lights dimmed again and The Cosmic Rangers took the stage.

It wasn't entirely clear to him why The Cosmic Rangers were the headliners, because their stage presence wasn't quite as unified as Glamora's. Pete looked like his normal self, jeans and a t-shirt and Converse sneakers. Behind the drum set was a muscled up, shirtless tatted dude known as Drax. A tall skinny kid with crazy hair was on keyboard, wearing a brown cardigan, and a guy half his size was on base. "This song is called Pelvic Sorcery!" Pete screamed into the microphone, and then the rest of the night was drowned out by Pete's unintelligible vocals and thrashing guitars.

Bruce winced his way through it, only changing his facial expression when Nat looked over at him. Kate and Clint weren't paying attention to the show. As Bucky watched, he realized they were talking to each other in sign language. "Whoa," he said, unable to hear his own voice. He elbowed Steve and nodded at Kate and Clint.

Steve smiled when he understood. He shouted something Bucky couldn't hear until Steve's lips were literally touched his ear. "This band is terrible!"

Grimacing, Bucky nodded agreement.

Mora joined them, still wearing her stage makeup. Kate stared at her in awe, and Nat introduced them as best she could. For once Mora actually smiled.

Bucky leaned back against Steve. Steve's arms wrapped around him and the tips of his fingers crept into the waistband of Bucky's jeans. Not far; just enough to give Bucky a little thrill. He swallowed back his beer and rocked his ass up against Steve's groin lightly, teasing him.

When Pete screamed out the name of the last song, everyone cheered, thrilled that the concert was finally over. Bucky's ear rang as they stumbled out of the club. He could barely hear anything, and what he did hear sounded weird.

He was happy to see Kate getting into Clint's car, the two of them grinning nervously at each other. "We're heading over to The Lounge, you guys coming?" Nat asked.

"Nah, we're gonna head home," Steve said before Bucky could even think about it. But then, Steve had his hand back in Bucky's pocket, squeezing.

"All right. Have fun, boys." She waved and got into Bruce's car.

"You okay if I drive?" Steve asked against Bucky's neck.

Bucky tilted his head and half-closed his eyes. "Mmm..." He couldn't quite remember how many drinks he'd had.

"I've only had a couple. Last round I had water." Steve trailed his lips all along the exposed skin. "Wanted to be able to get you home ASAP."

"Let's go."

Five minute car ride, quick walk up the front porch steps, door open - and then Steve had him up against the wall in the front hallway, one hand down the back of his pants while their bodies pressed together. Lips locked, tasting the bitterness of beer. Bucky grunted when Steve's finger zoomed down the crack of his ass and plunged inside.

"D-do you wanna go upstairs?" Bucky asked.

"Not yet," Steve said. "Fuck, you look so fucking hot. Did I ever tell you how fucking beautiful you are?"

His fingers worked into the tight opening and scissored apart. Despite the lack of lubrication, Bucky moaned and rocked his hips back against Steve's hand.

"I wanna make you come right here, right now," Steve growled.

"But we could," Bucky gasped as Steve fingers continued to work, "go upstairs, and you could..."

"How many times do you think I can make you come tonight?"

Bucky swallowed and tried to think. He was having a surprisingly hard time doing that.

"I want to find out," Steve breathed. Their tongues twined and for many moments there was no more talking, until Bucky moved his mouth down to Steve's neck, his favorite place to hang out. "I'm gonna make you come right here, and then we're gonna go upstairs and I'm gonna make you come _again_."

The way Steve had him trapped up against the wall, with his hip grinding into Bucky's hard on, made it near to impossible to do anything else but moan in agreement.

"Yeah? You want me to do that?"

Bucky bit down on Steve's shoulder. "Yes," he groaned through his teeth.

Without letting Bucky away from the wall, without releasing his grip on Bucky's neck, or taking his lips away from Bucky's face, Steve pulled his hand out of the back of Bucky's pants and immediately thrust it down the front, his hand and wrist sliding along his shaft on their way between his legs and back inside. The change of angle gave Steve better leverage to hit that place that sent Bucky into a panic of little moans and made him cling to Steve with his lips and his hands roaming everywhere.

Steve worked his fingers in and out shallowly, massaging the fuck out of that spot. In less than a minute he had Bucky shaking and clawing at him and stuttering out little sounds, "Uh, uh, uh..." The angle also gave the additional pleasure of rubbing his dick against the soft inside of Steve's wrist. He tilted his hips just slightly to give Steve better access, and then he erupted inside his pants. Steve kept scissoring and thrusting with his fingers the whole time.

He pushed Bucky gently back against the wall and kissed him with his hand still down Bucky's pants. "Hmmm," Bucky said against Steve's lips. "Now your turn?"

"Soon," Steve said with a sly smile. He finally slid his hand out, and touched Bucky's face with slicked up fingers. One more kiss, and then he pulled Bucky from the wall and led him upstairs.

Bucky followed on unsteady legs. In the bedroom he tumbled onto the bed, reeling in the after-effects of his climax, not fighting Steve as the other man ripped away his clothes. Steve hauled the t-shirt over Bucky's head, and Bucky just let his arms slide through the armholes limply and his head fall back and hit the mattress with a little bounce. Off came the shoes, the socks, the pants, and everything else, and Bucky gazed at Steve while undressed himself.

Yup. He was hard again.

Steve took a lick at Bucky's cock - even harder now - and then Steve flipped Bucky onto his stomach and slapped his ass lightly before tearing into a condom and lubricating.

This time they fucked hard and fast, doggy style, Bucky up on all fours. His arm did all right for a while, but when his elbow started to give out, Steve reached under his shoulder with one arm and gripped the headboard with the other, and used this leverage to plunge into him over and over and over, until Bucky was whining in his throat.

"Come for me," Steve growled.

Bucky did, and after, he lay draped around the wet spot on the sheets while Steve walked around the room, lighting candles. His body wrung out, his hair plastered to his face, he tried to catch his breath. There was no way he could come again.

And yet Steve was still hard, still hadn't come. Watching that soft glow caress the hard musculature of Steve's body, watching Steve walk around with his dick erect against his stomach, well... that familiar tingling started up in his balls and he knew that yes, he could come again, once Steve got back round to touching him.

This time Steve was gentle. When he returned to the bed, he gave Bucky one of those gentle, deep kisses Bucky liked, the kind that was more lips than tongue. He moved Bucky's limbs to drape around him so that Bucky lay on top.

"How are you doing?" Steve asked into his hair.

"Mmm," Bucky answered with a sigh.

Steve's fingers traced along Bucky's scarred arm, down his ribs, to touch lightly along his dick, which twitched back into hardness. Steve chuckled. "Fuck, what I wouldn't give to have your libido."

Bucky rumbled a laugh at that. He sighed when Steve guided himself into Bucky's asshole. The way Bucky was straddled over Steve, his asshole was stretched wide for it, and using his legs, Steve could propel himself. He did this slowly, so different from the two times earlier that even though Bucky was feeling raw and languid, his body responded, wanting more. Moving his hips, he helped Steve along when his legs needed a rest.

Steve pushed him upright, gave him support with his knees bent behind him. Bucky gripped Steve's legs and rode him. His sore throat couldn't even make a sound come out of his open mouth. The delicious length of Steve's cock pierced him right to the core, the width filling him so completely, and then he had the double pleasure of Steve's hand taking hold of his dick and kneading it until it grew so hard it hurt. He ground his ass harder against Steve's dick, and when he heard Steve start to moan, he let himself go for the third time.

After all that, Bucky could barely keep his eyes open. Steve pulled his sticky, limp body into his arms and sighed happily. "Next time we'll try for four."

48

The weeks before Steve's birthday flew by. Bucky had a few ideas for Steve's birthday gift: he'd made a mixtape for him, and he'd actually taken the practice GED tests and decided Steve had been right, that in being so close to graduation he'd learned everything he needed to know, and he had scheduled the test and planned to be able to tell Steve he had passed. While the test cost $120 to take, Bucky knew it wasn't exactly a present for Steve as much as for himself. He continued to look for a German Shepherd for Steve, even going so far as to call the army base and ask if there was a place to specifically adopt a retired military dog (there wasn't) and to snag Sam's phone number from Steve's phone while he was in the bathroom - something Bucky felt slightly guilty about, but he figured as long as he wasn't peeking at Steve's phone out of jealousy or suspicion, it was okay.

He knew Steve wouldn't care how much money Bucky spent on a gift for him, and he decided that he would give Steve the gift of himself. There was a porn shop over in the seedy streets near Clint's apartment, and Bucky went there one early afternoon and looked around, buying a few things he thought Steve might enjoy. Things Bucky knew he himself would enjoy, too.

Everything seemed to be going so well: Nat and Bruce were back together and doing well, and Clint and Kate were suddenly a thing. "What's the deal with this girl?" Nat asked Clint on a hot afternoon when the three of them had decided ice cream was the only thing they could possibly eat for lunch.

Clint just had that goofy smile and shrugged. "She's alright."

"I mean, did you know she knew sign language?" Nat asked Bucky.

"No." Bucky had been just as bewildered by that as Natasha. "Pretty amazing how perfect you two are for each other."

Clint shrugged again, moving in to lick his ice cream cone, but before he could, the scoop fell off onto the pavement, where Lucky licked it up. "Aw, ice cream," he said.

Lucky had gotten the cast off his leg and seemed to be in good health. "Hey, any apartments for rent in your building?" Bucky asked, trying to sound casual.

"In _my_ building?" Clint sounded bewildered. "Why the hell would you want to live there?"

"It's not so bad," Bucky said defensively. He avoided Nat's gaze. "They allow dogs."

"Not technically," Clint said.

Nat rolled her eyes. "James, if you really wanted to adopt a dog, I wouldn't mind. As long as it doesn't bark. Or pee in the house. Or jump up on things."

"I know," Bucky said. "I know. I just... I know I can't live at your place forever. I know you and Bruce are doing good, but it would be better if I wasn't around all the time."

"You're around hardly ever these days," Nat said. "Why don't you just move in with Steve?"

Bucky quirked his mouth. "It's not like I can just ask to move in with him."

"You need him to ask you," Nat said, nodding. "No, I get it. He hasn't yet, then. The topic hasn't even come up?"

Bucky shook his head. "I've been looking around. There's not much I can afford that would also let me have a dog."

"Why do you need a dog so badly?" Nat asked. She sucked a drip of chocolate ice cream from her knuckles.

No matter how many times he had told Natasha about Cheddar, she didn't quite get it. He thought she would, soon enough. Once the little black kitten received a clean bill of health, Bucky planned to bring Liho home as a gift for Natasha. Something to take his place in the house after he moved out.

If he ever found a place, that was. He had started saving his money, a little each week, so he'd have enough for first and last month's rent and a security deposit, but the monthly payments would still have to be somewhat in his budget and he'd turned up a whole lot of nothing.

Bucky and Steve celebrated their month anniversary at the site of their first date. Bucky had invited his friends to come out to karaoke, and naturally Sam was there with his crew and a bunch of Steve's friends too, and together they packed Clark's Tavern. Bucky had warned Phil, and ended up inviting his coworkers along, and of them Sharon and Maria showed. The night involved a few full-bar sing-alongs to "Sweet Caroline" and "Piano Man," and Bucky even got up and sang that old Blink-182 song, "All the Small Things," even though he mostly messed up the lyrics, being too drunk to read right – although he nailed the chorus every time. "Na-na na-na na-na na-na NA!"

Even though Pinky had shown up, he stayed away from Steve, and Bucky had apologized (sort of, if "Sorry I broke your nose" counted). Pinky shrugged it off, saying he had probably deserved it. And by night's end, Bucky had noticed Sharon and Sam making eyes at each other, a fact which he hadn't let go of by the time he saw Sharon again on Monday. "He's cute," she said, blushing. "You wouldn't happen to have his number?"

Bucky did, thanks to his previous snooping. He texted Steve to ask for it anyway, just so he could tell Steve about Sharon and Sam hitting it off without having to lie.

He already had enough lies weighing on his conscience.

He still hadn't quite figured out how to tell Steve about his stepfather. He'd even brought it up in support group, and afterwards Bruce had stayed and talked to him about it for half an hour. "I'm just worried he'll hate me for not telling him," Bucky said.

"I always think people are gonna react a certain way. The way my father treated me," Bruce said bitterly. "Goes to show you, we have shit luck on the Russian roulette of parents. I mean, after that whole thing, I thought for sure Steve would always look at me like I'm some kind of woman beater. I thought Natasha would look at me like I was a monster. But... both of them understood when I told them. I assume you told Steve?"

"No," Bucky said. "This stuff was all confidential. I only told him it was an accident, that he didn't see what he thought he saw. And I told him I was upset because of how my father treated _me_."

"Oh." Bruce considered this, nodding. "I mean, I know this is confidential and all, but I wouldn't have blamed you for trying to explain it to Steve with what I'd told you in group. Wow. Thanks, man." With a changed look in his eyes, he slapped Bucky on the shoulder. "Your boyfriend is one of the good ones, then. Just remember how you feel about him, and how he deserves to know the truth. Then you won't have to fear his reaction."

But Bucky still wasn't sure, and he put off saying anything until the time when he absolutely couldn't.

That time came about a week before Steve's birthday.

 _Got any plans for July 4th?_ Steve texted one night while Bucky had just clocked in at the gas station.

Bucky texted back, _My only plans are with you :)_

 _Do you own a suit?_

The tailored suit he'd rescued from his mother's house came to mind, and he responded _Yes..._

 _Good :)_

For a few minutes Bucky waited for further explanation, and when he received none, he texted a line of question marks.

Still no response.

 _Come on, it's YOUR birthday, why can't you tell me what we're doing?_

Finally the phone buzzed in his hand, and he stopped doing inventory. He stopped doing everything, including breathing.

 _OK fine, I'll tell you :) my boss is having a big party the night of my b-day, he does it every year, formal black tie and all and I want you to be my date :)_

Fireworks could have exploded beside him and he wouldn't have been able to move. His whole body had tensed up and he couldn't breathe. He couldn't uncurl his fingers out of their fist shapes, not even when his phone fell to the ground with a sharp crack.

Alexander Pierce's Annual Fourth of July Gala. Bucky had been forced to go every year, forced to dress up and smile and pretend like his stepfather was his greatest hero. Except for that one year when he'd been forbidden to go. When his stepfather had locked him in his room and told his mother Bucky just wasn't feeling up to it. "Hormones," he'd told her right outside the door, and Bucky had been too busy crying on the floor to get up and scream for her to let him out, his throat already swelling from the way Pierce's hands had wrapped around it to shut him up. "You know how teenagers are," Pierce had said smoothly, and he could hear his mother's high heels clicking away down the hall, leaving him alone.

The door beeped as someone entered the little gas mart, and Bucky scrambled for his phone on the floor before heading back to the cash register. He fucked up that transaction twice due to his shaking hands. _Probably thinks I'm a junkie,_ he thought, handing the customer his change. Once the customer had gone and Bucky was alone, he withdrew the phone from his pocket and looked it.

A lump was building in his throat he couldn't quite swallow past. The screen had shattered and when Bucky hit the power button, it winked the logo and then went dark again. He tried it six more times to be sure. Then he sank down behind the counter and curled up into a ball.

49

The electronic beep sounded, and yet Bucky didn't move. He couldn't move. Not until he heard a familiar voice saying, "Bucky?"

 _Steve._

He didn't know whether to be relieved or throw up.

"I'm here," he croaked.

Steve came around the counter. When he saw Bucky on the floor, he crouched down and gathered him into his arms. "What happened?" Steve asked. "I texted you and then nothing, I called and it went to voicemail, I called the gas station and you didn't pick up..." Steve's voice was thick with worry, though the panic began to ease the longer Steve held him.

Then, it seemed, Steve saw the cracked phone still clutched in Bucky's hand. "Talk to me," Steve urged, pressing a kiss to Bucky's temple. "Please. Talk to me. Tell me you're okay."

"I can't," Bucky tried to say, but it felt like he'd been punched in the stomach.

"Please, Buck. Did someone try to rob the gas station? Did someone threaten you? Pull a gun on you?" With each new possibility, Steve's grip got tighter and tighter until it hurt, but Bucky didn't tell him to stop. He deserved it.

"I can't... go to the gala with you," he managed to say.

Almost immediately the pressure released. "What? This is about the gala? Bucky... I don't understand. It's just a party."

"No..." Bucky couldn't get enough air into his lungs to speak.

Steve leaned back and held Bucky to him for a long time. His patient hands gave him comfort he hadn't earned. "It's just a party, Buck. It'll be okay. I mean, if you're that nervous about it you don't have to go... but I want you to go with me."

"I can't go," Bucky said hoarsely.

"I don't understand." Steve cupped Bucky's face and lifted it. Bucky stared at Steve through blurry eyes, and it only made this all hurt worse. "Bucky, I... I love you."

"Don't," Bucky moaned and crawled out of Steve's lap before crumpling a few feet away. "Don't say it." He sobbed openly now, face to the floor like the dirt he was.

"Buck-"

"You don't even know!" Bucky's voice came out too loud, and he looked at Steve accusingly. "I've been lying to you this whole time and you can't say you love me when you don't even know me!" He swiped at his face. "Don't say you love me, because after I tell you the truth you'll hate me."

The silence after he spoke went on for a long, long time. It was already happening. Steve had already changed his mind, he just knew it.

Then Steve asked quietly, "Tell me the truth then."

Bucky heard the challenge in Steve's voice. _Tell me, and see if I change my mind._ Part of him knew Steve. Knew Steve wouldn't change his mind. _Would he?_ His whole body was shaking for the little part of him that doubted. That didn't believe anyone could ever love him enough to forgive him.

Somehow he had to do this. Now or never. If he didn't tell Steve the truth he would lose him. If he told Steve the truth he might lose him. He had to do it, because a _might not lose him_ was better than a _definitely will lose him_.

"Your boss," Bucky said to the floor, then thought better of it. He needed to face Steve. He needed to be strong. Sitting up, he pushed his hair out of his face and set his jaw. "Your boss. Alexander Pierce." He risked a glance at Steve. "He's... he's my stepfather."

Watching, he saw the moment that information sunk in. The moment Steve had to reconcile the man he respected and had bragged about to Bucky with the man he had sworn he hated, the man he'd said he'd beat up if he ever laid eyes on him.

"Bucky." Steve's voice cracked. He put a hand to his face, and his chin crumpled, and Steve just looked devastated.

 _I did this to him_ , Bucky thought hopelessly. _I broke Steve Rogers._

"Come here," Steve said hoarsely. "Come here. _Please_."

Was Steve going to punch him? If he was, then Bucky deserved it. All this time, lying to his face, letting all those opportunities slide by when he could have told the truth. He crawled toward Steve, head down, ready to flinch. He startled away when Steve lifted his hand, but Steve only wrapped his hands around Bucky's shoulders and reeled him in, pulled him close. "What do you want me to do?" Steve asked, his voice quiet in Bucky's ear.

"I'm sorry." Bucky's voice was a high whine. "I'm sorry."

"Do you want me to quit my job? I will. I would never have taken that fucking job if I knew. Why didn't you tell me? I would have quit a long time ago. I... fuck. All that shit I said about him... I'm so sorry, Buck. I wish you had told me. Do you want me to quit?"

 _Steve_ was sorry? Bucky couldn't understand it. "What?"

"I'll quit." Steve's voice didn't sound broken anymore. "It's just a job. What matters is you. Do you want me to quit?"

"Steve?" Bucky pulled back to look at him again. "Aren't you mad?"

"I'm not mad at you. God. Pierce had me fooled. Even after everything you told me. Hell, he still has your mother fooled, doesn't he? Bucky," Steve gripped his face so hard his cheeks smushed. "Bucky, no, fuck no, I'm not mad at you. No. I mean, I get it, I think. Why you didn't tell me."

"It took you a long time to find a job," Bucky said. "I know how hard it is. I didn't want you to not take that job because of me."

"That's how you knew the name of the company." Steve closed his eyes. " _I should have known_."

"I thought maybe you'd never meet him. But then... after you met him and you loved him..."

"No. I do _not_ fucking love him." Steve shook Bucky's head, and Bucky's eyes went wide at how angry he looked. But the anger melted away, and all Bucky could see was how very blue Steve's eyes were when they looked at him. "I love _you_ , Bucky. I love _you_."

Tears rolled from Bucky's eyes along the inside of his nose, dripped down over his lips. "After you said you'd kill my stepfather if you met him... I couldn't tell you. I couldn't."

Steve's lips kissed those tears from Bucky's mouth. "You can trust me Bucky... I love you. I'll quit. I have to quit, I can't work for someone who's hurt you. I love you."

"Stop _saying_ that," Bucky mumbled. "I don't deserve it."

"I've been wanting to say ever since that time you said it. I've been thinking about it, when would be the right time. Why not say it now? I love you. I don't care if you lied to me. I don't care. I love you."

Bucky closed his eyes, dropped his head to Steve's chest, and let those words wash over him. _Ever since that time you said it._ He'd been so careful not to say it since it slipped out that time. He'd been careful not to tell Steve how he really felt, afraid to scare Steve away by being too clingy. The more Steve said it, the more Bucky felt it, in everything. The way Steve held him, the way Steve had fucking driven over here, so late at night - Bucky looked down, his tears plopping down on Steve's plaid pajama pants.

Steve had always been there for him. Even back in fourth grade, Steve had been protecting him. He had no idea what he'd done to make him worthy in Steve's eyes.

"You love me?" Bucky asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "But... why?"

"Why do you love me? There's no why. It just is. I love you because you're you. That's it, Buck. That's all there is to it. And you could lie to me, and tell me you hate me, but... I would still love you, I think."

 _That's it._ He made it sound so simple.

"I love you." Nothing but air came out that time. Bucky tried again. "I love you, Steve."

"I know," Steve said into his hair. For a long time Steve just held him, stroking his hair, until he felt like he could talk without breaking down again.

"Please don't quit your job." Bucky's voice was tired and hoarse. "I don't want you to lose your job because of me."

"I can find another job."

"He just keeps fucking up my life." A little sob escaped him, which he muffled in Steve's t-shirt. "I don't want him to fuck up yours."

"You're right," Steve said suddenly. "I won't quit. I'll make him fire me. He can fire me and pay my severance, my unemployment, all that."

"How? Please don't beat him up. You'll end up jail and I couldn't... I couldn't take that. He would destroy you in a courtroom."

Steve's arms curled tight. Bucky sighed, something inside of him uncoiling in relief. "I don't even know what exactly he's done to you and I want to kill him. Why do you defend him? How can you possibly defend someone like that?"

"My mom, he still has my mom." He couldn't even comprehend yet the depths of his relief that his stepfather didn't have Steve anymore. "And I'm not kidding. If you even took a swing at him and missed, he'd get you locked away. I mean... I know you've gotten in fights before. He'd find out. He'd use all that against you."

Steve was quiet. Bucky knew Steve wasn't reckless like Clint, but it was clear from the incident at the club that Steve wasn't opposed to fighting.

Then Steve smiled against his forehead. "Pacifist," he said, like it was an insult.

That made Bucky laugh, even with the tears still drying on his face. "Hey. I got a good shot at Pinky that night at the club."

"You sure did."

Now Steve sounded proud of him. He smiled and pulled up from Steve's chest to look at him. Steve's eyes were red-rimmed, too, although Bucky was sure he looked worse. It didn't matter, though. None of that mattered.

"I love you, Steve," Bucky said.

Steve sighed, smiled. "I love you, too."

50

Bucky stepped out of Nat's car and folded the garment bag over his arm. "Thanks," he said.

"You're sure you're going to be okay?" she asked for the fifth time.

He looked at Steve's house, then down at the garment bag, and chewed his lip.

"You don't have to do this," she reminded him.

"I know," he said.

"You call me if you need to leave. You fucking call me, got it?"

"I will. I promise."

"Okay." She settled back into the driver's seat, and he shut the door. "See you later."

He waved, then trudged inside.

The humid air outside followed him in. "Steve?" he called up the stairs.

"Up here."

In Steve's bedroom a suit was laid out on the bed. It was essentially a tux, minus a vest and cummerbund. Bucky lay his garment bag down on the bed and leaned into the bathroom door.

Steve was wearing a towel and a face full of shaving cream and nothing else. "How are you doing?" Steve asked, running a razor under his chin.

"I'm alright," Bucky said.

"You want me to give you a shave?" With a little grin, Steve ran the back of his knuckles over Bucky's scruff.

Bucky let himself laugh a little, but it was half-hearted, and Steve noticed.

"If you don't want to do this, we don't have to." Those blue, blue eyes... Bucky couldn't resist the need to feel something other than scared sick. He pulled Steve's face to his and kissed him, despite the shaving cream. Now he could laugh a little. "But I'm serious, Buck. We don't have to go."

Bucky looked at the mess of hair in the sink. "I think I do."

"Just remember, you don't have to say anything to him. He just needs to see you with me. I want to see him try to pretend like he's some upstanding citizen to my face."

"You can't hit him," Bucky insisted, his eyes blurring.

"I won't." Another shaving cream kiss. "Let me finish up and then I'll take care of you, okay?"

Bucky stepped behind Steve and sat down on the closed toilet lid, watching the gentle way Steve dragged the razor over his face. "I love you," Bucky said.

Steve paused and smiled down at him. "I love you, too."

As Steve finished up, Bucky stripped off his t-shirt and pulled back his hair - it was a little shorter now, thanks to the haircut he'd gotten yesterday. Just a trim, really, but whatever the stylist had done had made his normally straggly hair super smooth. It barely even felt like his hair. Steve had really enjoyed running his fingers through it last night.

Without warning, Steve laid a glop of shaving cream on Bucky's cheek, and he laughed. "Hold still," Steve admonished. Letting him apply the lather, spread it over his jaw and upper lip, and then scrape it away while his face was inches away, Bucky couldn't help but feel himself start to get warm. Warmer than the hot day had already made him. He waited until Steve had pulled the razor away for a moment, then he reached out and tugged off the towel around Steve's waist.

Laughing, Steve didn't bother to try to hide anything. "You needed a better view, huh?"

"Mmm-hm," Bucky said.

Even with the view, Bucky found himself closing his eyes and just savoring this moment of closeness with Steve. Who knew what would happen after tonight. Things could go so wrong...

It would be the first time he saw his stepfather since the day he was kicked out of his house. The first time he saw his mother since he called her and went to visit her. That bothered him most of all, that she hadn't called him. Maybe she thought he had only contacted her to get money. Maybe he should have called her again, just to check in, since he had never given her his phone number. If it was possible, he thought it might be his mother's reaction that he feared most. He'd never come out to her.

Steve wiped the remaining bits of foam from his face with a towel, then kissed him. Their smooth faces, slick with the remains of the soap, glided against each other in an unfamiliar and tantalizing way. Bucky opened his eyes.

"It's going to be okay," Steve told him. "Just remember: I love you."

"I love you, too."

Ever since they'd said those words to each other, little more than a week ago, it had been hard to _stop_ saying them. It was nearly two months now they'd been dating, and they still couldn't keep their hands off each other. Nat had said to him just the other day, "Good thing you're both gay, or one of you'd be knocked up already." And that had led to Bucky lying awake beside Steve that night, imagining a life where they adopted kids.

Bucky was quiet as he changed into his suit. The weather was too sticky and hot for a full suit. Too many layers, all buttoned up where he usually kept his shirts undone. There would be hidden air conditioning around the Pierce Estate grounds to keep things cool. The fountains would be splashing cold water, fans would be circulating the air. Somehow weather didn't matter to the rich and powerful, but here in Steve's bedroom, it was hot, and a light sheen of sweat glistened on his face by the time he had buttoned up the last button on his shirt. He popped the collar and pulled his silk tie around his neck before even noticing Steve standing before him. "You need help with that?" Steve's shirt was still unbuttoned over his undershirt.

"I know how to tie a tie." It came out too sharp, and he felt bad as soon as he said it. He frowned down at the floor.

"I know." Steve settled his hands on Bucky's shoulders. "I just wanted an excuse to touch you."

Bucky looked up just in time to meet Steve's lips. The kiss was for comfort, and Bucky closed his eyes and let it wash over him. Then he resumed tying his tie, even with Steve's face hovering so close to his, the two of them content to share the same oxygen. It had been a long time since he had done it, but in his past he'd knotted enough ties that muscle memory kicked in and his fingers did what they were supposed to do - even his bad hand remembered with little fumbling.

"I think your physical therapy is paying off," Steve said, his breath skating over Bucky's freshly shaven cheek. Bucky had gone to the doctor a couple of weeks ago, gotten new prescriptions, gotten himself checked (both he and Steve were clean... no more condoms), and found out his new insurance covered some physical therapy.

"Um." That just made Bucky think of what he had folded up in his overnight bag. He drew away from Steve and pulled out the wrinkled letter. He handed it to Steve without an explanation.

Steve unfolded the paper and scanned the words, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You did it," he said. He grinned at Bucky, who blushed a little and rubbed his arm. "You're officially a high school graduate now."

"Sort of," Bucky ceded, but that didn't stop him from accepting Steve's enthusiastic congratulatory kisses. "And I already enrolled at the community college for fall."

Suddenly all the air squeezed out of him as Steve wrapped his arms tight and lifted him up into the air - only a couple of inches, since they were the same height, but he kicked his legs anyway and laughed.

"You're gonna do awesome, I just know it," Steve said.

Now Steve could walk into the gala tonight with a college student on his arm instead of some dropout. He knew Steve never thought of him like that, but it made him feel better about himself, too. Now he felt like he could look Pierce in the eye.

All too soon it came time to go. Bucky could barely even appreciate how Steve looked. He felt too hot and uncomfortable and nauseous. "You'll feel better in the car. There'll be air conditioning," Steve said. He pushed Bucky's hair from his forehead. "Still time to back out, if you want."

"Let's go," Bucky croaked, and they headed out.

He did feel better in the car, with the cool air whisking away the sweat on his face. Steve idled in the driveway for a while. "Remember, we're just going to go and have a good time. You're my date. I'm allowed a plus one. And if anyone says otherwise that you're not allowed to be there, that's when I make a stink. You don't have to do anything. You leave, I leave with you. Got it?"

Bucky nodded, his eyes closed and just trying to breathe.

He felt Steve weave his fingers into those of Bucky's left hand. "Whatever happens, I love you. No stupid job is going to stand in the way of that."

His throat still felt dry, but the words came out and he turned his head to look at Steve. "I love you, too."

Steve squeezed his hand. "Pierce can't do anything that will hurt you now. I won't let him hurt you ever again."

At this Bucky could only nod. The fingers of his hand squeezed back.

Eventually Steve had to take his hand back to drive. Bucky kept his eyes on Steve the whole time. His heart hammered in his chest, and he forced himself to take deep breaths to make it slow down. Just another thing he'd learned from support group. They were part of the reason he had decided to actually go through with this whole ordeal - confronting the abuser was something many of them talked about. Some of them had never had the opportunity. Others had only done it in the courtroom. He'd spoken to Erik about the specifics of his situation, and it seemed that without any evidence, the statute of limitations would most likely come into effect, so there would be little he could gain from charging Pierce with attempted murder. Still, Erik had encouraged him to go to the gala. "It helps to see your abuser as a human being, with faults of his own. He isn't all-powerful. You are no longer a defenseless child. Confronting those facts will help you heal."

Bucky's major worry was that Steve would get violent. "I won't if no one touches you," Steve had growled when Bucky brought it up last night. _Pierce wouldn't get violent in front of a crowd,_ Bucky told himself.

He held out a slim thread of hope that somehow this would be a happy ending. His stepfather would welcome him with open arms, somehow all this had been a huge misunderstanding, and Pierce would apologize for all the awful things he'd done that Bucky only ever allowed himself to remember in his nightmares. _Apologies won't fix this_.

Stomach roiling, Steve slowed down to wait in a line of cars entering the Pierce Estate.

 _Here we go_ , he thought.

51

Bucky breathed deep breaths. He had almost gotten his heartbeat down to a normal pulse rate.

Steve had given his car keys over to the valet, and now the two of them started up the steps to the open doors. Setting foot onto the porch, they were greeted by a cool draft of air. _Thank god,_ Bucky thought, lifting his chin so it could hit the damp collar of his shirt.

"Did I mention how fucking sexy you look in that suit?" Steve whispered into his ear just before they stepped up to the doorman.

Just like that, Bucky had a split second of relief from the turmoil. The clarity came suddenly. He was Steve's arm candy. He looked around, saw other guests glancing over at the two sharp-dressed men appreciatively.

Steve gave his name. "Steve Rogers and guest."

With no hesitation, the doorman checked his name off the list and let them enter. The hallway was lit but the side rooms were not, and they followed the other guests through the house and into the lavishly decorated lawn. Small tents were scattered about, each offering cool air and various forms of cocktails and beverages, and a dance floor had been constructed on the grass with a string quartet playing melodies suited for dancing and conversation.

Steve and Bucky strolled through the grounds, visiting one tent for a drink - Bucky sipped a light champagne just to ease his nerves, while Steve kept to water - and another for some hors d'oeuvres. Though his anxiety kept him from feeling hungry, he knew he ought to eat something, so Bucky took a few bites and tried to look at ease.

Bucky didn't think it would last for long. He saw his stepfather's men patrolling the edges of the crowd, dressed in dark suits with earpieces. Eventually, someone would recognize him.

"Do you want to dance?" Steve asked in his ear.

He looked out at the couples gracing the dance floor. Most were of the older generation, women in brightly colored gowns and men who knew actual ballroom dance steps. "Wouldn't that be calling attention to ourselves?"

"Isn't that what we want?"

His heart started thudding again, and he inhaled, exhaled.

"It'll be okay, Buck." Steve's breath on his ear. He allowed Steve to pull him close. "We can just stand here for a while."

Being rather new at the company, Steve didn't know very many people, but eventually some of his coworkers came over and Bucky was able to be distracted and relax a bit. "This is my boyfriend, Bucky," Steve told them all, and they all shook his hand. Some seemed disappointed that Steve was taken, but no one seemed to recognize him.

After a time Bucky began to think he'd gotten himself worked up for nothing. The gala had always been such a huge event, and though Pierce was surely circulating among the crowd, Bucky hadn't yet seen the man. Could be Steve wasn't really on Pierce's radar. Could be they could have an entirely pleasant evening dressed to the nines, watching fireworks...

Then, in the middle of a conversation with some of Steve's coworkers, Bucky felt a tap on his shoulder. "Sir, could you come with me, please."

Steve immediately turned around to face the security worker. "Is there a problem?"

"Of course not," the man said smoothly, no emotion visible on his face. "Mr. Pierce would like a word with you, if you'd step right this way?"

 _Yes_ , Bucky thought. This was what he remembered. Every sharp word, every minor incident swept neatly under the carpet, hushed up. Nothing could mar Pierce's façade of perfection. It all flooded back to him, how any time he wanted to scream he'd be whisked off to be dealt with in private. No deviance tolerated.

Steve parted ways with his coworkers, who _oohed_ like Pierce had hand-selected him for special treatment. They had already forgotten that it was Bucky, not Steve, who had been summoned.

They were led back into the mansion and up a short flight of stairs, through a set of French doors, and onto a balcony that overlooked the grounds. Steve reached back as soon as they left the lawn, and Bucky gripped his hand like his life depended on it. His palm was sweaty, but he didn't let go. Not even when they stepped in front of Alexander Pierce, standing like a king surveying his kingdom there on the balcony.

Pierce looked just as Bucky remembered. That ruggedly handsome face, weathered, the thick blond hair that defied the lines creasing his face - no grays, no thinning, making him appear almost youthful. His trim frame wore the dark Armani suit with ease. Pierce even had a vague smile as he turned to them, the two of them, standing there holding hands.

Beyond Pierce, Bucky could see his mother sitting with her spine tall, her warm brown hair perfectly coiffed, diamonds shimmering around her throat. Her cane leaned against her chair, carefully concealed to the casual observer.

"Rogers! Good to see you," Pierce said. Bucky released Steve's hand as Pierce leaned in for a friendly handshake, both of his hands covering up the one Steve reached out.

Steve smiled warmly. Others might not have caught the flinch of Pierce's eye as Steve squeezed, but Bucky did, and he almost smiled. Almost. If Pierce had been looking at him, he would have caught a twinkle in Bucky's eye.

"A firm handshake is the sign of a good man," Pierce said. His hand now extracted from Steve's grip, and looked at Bucky. "James! What a surprise." The tone of his voice indicated that it was no such thing.

"Small world, isn't it, sir?" Steve said. "I was so surprised when I found out I was dating my boss's stepson."

"Sir? Please, Rogers, such formality!" Pierce gestured to one of the white-coated men standing inconspicuously on the balcony. "Please, might we have a round for one of my most promising new employees. And his _date_."

Bucky wished he could catch Steve's eye. Instead, Steve had his sights set on Pierce, his jaw clenched, while Bucky looked beyond, to his mother, who at the sound of his name had looked over and noticed him.

"I would have thought you'd let your mother know you would be stopping by," said Pierce. "She so worries about you."

"You wouldn't have let me come if I'd told you," Bucky said. His voice had none of the smooth social grace of Pierce's or Steve's. But it wasn't shaking, and neither was he. He felt oddly calm. Righteous.

"Of _course_ you would have been welcome." Pierce smiled insincerely at Steve. "I hope he hasn't made you think ill of me. Our James hasn't been the same since the accident."

"I know all about this _accident_ ," Steve started to say, but Pierce cut him off.

"Rogers, I'd like you meet my wife." Pierce turned to her. "Dear, this is Steve Rogers, the young man I've been telling you about."

"Pleased to meet you," Bucky's mother said, reaching out a hand. "Am I correct in hearing that you are Jamie's boyfriend?"

Bucky hadn't realized how worried he'd been for his mother's reaction to this until now, but she wore a smile that he could tell wasn't false.

"Jamie?" Steve stepped away from his mission long enough to give Bucky a little smile. "Oh yes. We've been dating for almost two months now."

"That long?"

"I see that your dismissal from Truman Academy did nothing to curb your deviance." Pierce accepted a short glass of brandy from the tray presented to him.

"Deviance, sir?" Steve said sharply. "Excuse me. _Pierce_."

Bucky's stepfather held up a hand. "Not my terms. These are simply the words used when young James was ejected from a top military academy with no opportunities for recourse. Sexual deviance. Unfortunate, isn't it?"

"Yes, _Pierce_ ," said Steve. "Unfortunate. Like when a father turns his son out on the streets for what was his own fault."

"Oh, Rogers." Pierce smiled and shook his head. "You must learn to take what James says with a grain of salt. He suffered quite a brain injury in the car accident; he doesn't remember things quite rightly."

"I remember things just fine," Bucky growled, his fingers gripping his champagne glass.

Steve reached up and rested his arm across Bucky's shoulders. "Are you saying he's misremembering that you kicked him out?"

"Tensions were high," Pierce said vaguely. "My wife was quite distraught. I thought it best if James was not here to upset her."

"You're a liar," Bucky said, his tone cold.

"Are you aware, sir, that what you did is considered child abandonment and neglect? I wonder what your other employees would think, knowing what kind of man you really are."

Pierce laughed. "James was nearly an adult, and such things would be considered a misdemeanor if anything. Please, let us not be unpleasant."

"He _wasn't_ an adult, though," Steve insisted. "I believe in a court of law, you would have to pay child support for those months you did not provide him with food or shelter. And most certainly you would have to pay restitution for the emotional pain you caused."

"Is that some kind of threat, Rogers?"

"Just stating the facts, _Pierce_."

"Here is a fact for you. I have a team of first-class lawyers at my beck and call. Any claims based on information given to you by your unfortunate choice of boyfriend are insubstantial at best. You will walk away with nothing more than an empty wallet and a bad reputation."

Steve shrugged. "No need to get upset if the allegations aren't true."

"You have quite a promising future with this company." Pierce's flinty eyes could have bored holes through Steve's face, if Steve didn't have his own penetrating gaze locked on Pierce. "It would be a shame to throw it all away on someone like this." He gestured toward Bucky, not even looking at him.

"Someone like your _son_ , you mean?" Steve said. "Someone who went from being homeless, no thanks to his own father, and made it on his own despite having parents who could have done it all for him?"

"Stepson," Pierce corrected casually. "I'm afraid you have quite overstepped your bounds tonight, Rogers. I had such high hopes for you."

"Sir." Steve put a hand to his chest in mock disappointment. "Are you... firing me?"

"I do not tolerate personal attacks from my employees," Pierce said.

"And should I tell the unemployment office that I was fired because I'm homosexual? Or perhaps I should tell that to _my_ lawyer?" Steve pulled out his phone, where he'd been recording everything. "I believe the word you used to describe my lifestyle was... deviant?"

"Money, is that what you want?" Pierce narrowed his eyes. "Yes, I have plenty of money to make my problems go away. I can make you and your vague threats go away, certainly. I have great respect for those who have served this country, and would of course offer you a full severance package, which you can pick up on Monday morning." Pierce finished off his brandy and handed the empty glass off to one of the wait staff.

"But for _you_?" Pierce caught Bucky in his sights. " _You_ get nothing. None of that inheritance I'm sure you're grubbing for, coming back here and harassing your mother."

"I want nothing from you," Bucky spat.

"Excuse me, Alex." Bucky's mother spoke up from behind Pierce. "My money is mine to do with as I please. My son _will_ get his full inheritance."

Pierce's mouth formed a tight line, but he did not speak.

"And my son, with his lovely date, may visit anytime they like. After you lied to me, Alexander, it is the least you can do." She smiled at Steve and Bucky, and Bucky found himself smiling back. "I hope you will visit more often? I've been waiting for a phone call, James. Please be sure to leave your new number with Renata so I can call you when you've been neglecting me," she continued with a little chastising wag of her finger.

"Excuse me," Pierce said abruptly, and left the balcony.

"Frankly, Mrs. Pierce," said Steve. "I'm not sure how can you live with someone who has lied to you the way your husband has."

Bucky was glad Steve was there to ask that question. In a polite way.

Mrs. Pierce smiled sadly. "We all have our secrets, dear. And our guilts, and our burdens."

"He won't hurt you, will he, Mom?" Bucky asked.

"No, dear. He's just off to have a pout," she said, and somehow he knew that Pierce would never lay a finger on her. She looked up at Steve and said, "Would you excuse us?"

Steve checked in with Bucky to make sure it was okay. He nodded, and Steve walked to the far end of the balcony, where the noise of the crowd and the music would serve to give Bucky and his mother some privacy.

Bucky sat down in the chair beside his mother and looked at her.

"I've been quite a terrible mother," she said. The party lights illuminated the tears in her eyes.

"You haven't been that bad," he said.

"No, I have. After all this deceit from your father came to light, I learned of... other things. Things I willfully ignored while you were growing up. I allowed him to lie to me. I lied to myself, most of all. I was a functional alcoholic. I'm only sorry that you were hurt in the process. It took that accident to make me realize what had been happening right in front of me. And when I thought you left out of guilt, I told myself it was for the best." She took a deep breath. "I am so sorry, James. I would understand if you never wanted to see me again." Another deep breath, then a tear was splashing down her cheek.

Bucky wiped it away without thinking about it.

"I don't think I can ever forgive him, Mom."

"I know. I only hope... you can forgive me?"

When Bucky and Steve left the gala a short time later, unaccompanied by security, Bucky was finally able to breathe. He had faced his stepfather without breaking down. His stepfather was just a man, a man whose wife had the final say. A man who would rather pay someone off than deal with the ugly truth. Just... a man. A man Bucky never had to see again if he didn't want to.

It would be a hard road to repairing his relationship with his mother, but he thought he could do that.

"What should we do with the rest of our night?" Steve asked. "Two finely dressed men such as ourselves?"

"I don't think I'm up for much of anything tonight," Bucky said. "Is it okay if I give you your birthday present tomorrow night?"

Steve hmmmed. "So it's a present like that, huh?" He reached over, pushed his fingers through Bucky's hair. "We can take it easy tonight, then. Rest up."

Bucky smiled and closed his eyes for the rest of the short ride home. Steve practically had to carry him inside, and once upstairs, Bucky allowed Steve to peel him out of his sweaty clothes. Then Steve went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. When Steve didn't come out, Bucky rolled off the bed and joined him under the cool stream of water.

Lights out, fan on, naked under the light sheet, Bucky put his cheek against Steve's shoulder. "Thank you," he said.

"For a few minutes I wasn't sure he'd show his true colors," Steve said. "But yeah, that felt good. I almost punched him a couple of times. If you would have let me."

Bucky smiled. "I couldn't even tell. You were so polite."

"And your mom! We're going to visit with her, right? Some time when Pierce isn't around?"

"I imagine it'd drive him crazy if we showed up when he _was_ around," Bucky said. Under the sheets, he dragged his foot up and down Steve's ankle.

"You'd want to do that?"

"No," Bucky said. "But I _could_ do it, and that feels good." They were quiet for a few minutes, then Bucky asked, "What are you going to do now that you're unemployed?"

"Find a job that suits me better," Steve laughed. "Something where I'm not trapped behind a desk. I was thinking of something in law enforcement... You like men in uniform, right?"

Bucky chuckled, his eyes closing. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

52

It had been almost an hour. Bucky could hear Steve pacing, up the stairs and back down. He'd knocked lightly a few times on the bedroom door: "Are you ready yet?" - "How about now?"

"Not yet," Bucky had told him again and again.

The candles were lit, the lights off, music playing, and finally he had completed his own preparation, kneeling on the bed, which was stripped of everything but a satin fitted sheet in dark red. He was _mostly_ naked. And hard as fuck already.

"Okay, you can come in now," he called.

Steve had opened the door before he had finished speaking. He was still wearing the dark jeans and pressed white shirt he'd worn when they'd gone out to dinner, and Bucky helplessly felt his cock give a little twitch at the sight of him. Steve, and the surprised expression on his face that quickly morphed into a lusty smirk.

"Oh, is that my gift?" Steve said, practically jumping onto the bed. He took hold of the end of the ribbon that formed a bow at the tip of Bucky's cock, which was hidden beneath layers of tissue paper printed with the words, "Happy Birthday."

Bucky slapped his hand away. "Not yet. You need to open this first." He produced a ring-sized jewelry box from behind his back. It, too, was topped with a red ribbon.

"I think I want to open the other one first." Steve leaned over on his hands and knees and they kissed, open-mouthed, Bucky's toes curling under his bare ass. After only a few moments, Bucky tapped Steve on the shoulder.

"Come on," he said into Steve's mouth. "You have to open this one. Come _on_ ," he laughed.

Steve smirked and sat back. "A little soon for a ring," he said as he opened the hinged box.

Bucky bit his lip and waited.

Steve stared at the contents for a split second before giving Bucky a dark look. "Will you put it on me?"

Arching his back, Steve lifted his hips so Bucky could unbutton his pants and pull them down. He settled the elastic of Steve's boxers just under his balls. Steve was just as hard as Bucky was. Now Bucky could take the translucent blue ring out of the box and slide it over Steve's cock. The flexible silicone was a tight fit, and Steve was already groaning by the time Bucky had set the little vibrator right against his testicles. When Bucky flicked the little switch, Steve sucked in a breath and grabbed Bucky's knee.

"I wanna open my other present now," Steve said, unable to regulate the volume of his voice.

Now Bucky was the one who leaned back, licking his lips while Steve plucked at the ribbon. The little pressures of the ribbon tightening and falling away, the tissue paper whispering over that sensitive area... Bucky was gritting his teeth so he wouldn't shoot off immediately.

"It's beautiful." Steve leaned down and tongued the tip. "And it's all mine?" He lifted his eyes to look at Bucky.

Bucky nodded. "All yours."

A growl from his throat that Bucky could feel in his dick. "I _wike_ it," he said.

And yet, after that, Steve rose up and kissed him. The whirring vibrator buzzed up against him as Steve pushed him down on the satin sheets and they sucked at each other's lips. Steve ground his hips up against Bucky, his hands everywhere at once. Bucky's fingers dug into Steve's short hair and took two handfuls.

"No rush," Bucky whispered. "We have all night. You can make me come as many times as you want."

Steve just groaned against him.

Bucky slid up a little and snatched something from the bedside table. He squirted the lube into his hand and reached down. Steve gasped. "It's tingly," Bucky explained, and kissed Steve's throat while his hand worked up and down. Steve's mouth gaped. His eyes, half-closed, fluttered.

"You wanna take off your clothes?" Bucky murmured into Steve's ear.

Immediately Steve jerked back and ripped off his shirt. A few buttons popped off and pinged around the room. Bucky laughed. He still had his hand on Steve's cock.

"Fuck, fuck," Steve stuttered, looking down. "Fuck, you have to..." He threw his head back. "Fuck."

"You want me to stop so you can take off your pants?" Bucky asked.

"No. Yes." Steve panted and rocked his hips in Bucky's fist. "No."

Bucky pumped faster, just to see the lightness in Steve's face as it tilted back and caught the glow of the candles. "You wanna come? You wanna come all over me?" Bucky asked.

"No, no." Steve shoved his hand away, and rolled off to yank off his pants and boxers. "Fuck. Fuck. Roll over. Hold up, you brought whipped cream?"

Bucky laughed as he turned onto his stomach. He was so ready for Steve, and he'd barely been touched.

Busy trying to get his ankles out of his pant legs and muttering a litany of expletives, Steve put his hands on the bed and kicked and finally got loose. By the time he looked up again, Bucky was on all fours.

He wagged his ass back and forth. "Fuck me," he said.

Steve obliged.

It didn't bother Bucky at all that Steve wanted to fuck him doggy style. Not when it meant Steve was going to grab his hair and pull so that he could suck on Bucky's neck while he thrust right into the sweet spot. He knew that after a while, Steve was going to flip him over and make love to him face to face. "I'm so fucking hard," Steve whined now, his face pressed to Bucky's back. "Oh, fuck, this is the best thing ever. Fuck."

Bucky came even before Steve had flipped him. Barely a break before he was on his back, looking up into Steve's face, wrapping his arms around Steve's neck and doing most of the thrusting himself. Steve grunted into Bucky's hair. Held their faces close by a hand against his skull. "Fuck, I love you," Steve said breathlessly. "I love the fuck out of you."

The friction on his dick between their stomachs sent him back into hardness. He moaned against Steve's cheek. "I love you."

When he came for the second time, and Steve was still hard and throbbing, Bucky got up and pushed Steve down on the bed. Steve's face was flushed bright red.

He picked up the can of whipped cream and proceeded to drizzle it all over Steve's dick. Naturally, then, he had to lick Steve clean. That was when Steve finally came with a long shout that turned into a moan and lasted for almost twenty seconds. Even after he'd swallowed the last of Steve's come, Steve was emitting hard wheezes of pleasure.

Bucky worked the cock ring from Steve's dick and then lay down half on top of him. "You like your present?" he asked.

Eyes unfocused, Steve blinked and said, "Yeah."

"Really?"

At this, Steve gathered Bucky into his arms and kissed him long and deep. "I loved it," he said.

53

Bucky tossed the last of his stray clothing into the nearly-full trash bag and cinched the top. The walls of his little room had been stripped bare, the floor fully visible. He had only his bedding to pack up tomorrow morning, and that would be it.

He was moving out.

He'd found the apartment in the classifieds two weeks ago. One bedroom, with a small bathroom and kitchen and living room, the finished basement of a house on Blue Hill Road, one of the low numbers, only a fifteen-minute walk from the shelter in one direction, and ten minutes to the bus stop or a twenty-minute walk to the community college in the other direction. It had a separate entrance, and a big backyard, and best of all, the woman who owned the house was a dog breeder. She was thrilled when Bucky brought Cheddar along to look at the place, exclaiming how adorable he was, and she was even more thrilled that Bucky was going to school to be a vet tech. "This is like some cosmic connection!" she exclaimed.

Best of all, the apartment was only $500 a month, and included utilities. That was more than he had been paying Nat, but still within his budget, and he had hopes that he'd get more hours at the shelter soon, with Maria leaving to move back in with her parents when she started grad school.

"I'm gonna miss you, ya know," Natasha said, scratching Liho between the ears. The little kitten had its eyes closed and was purring nonstop. "This thing won't keep up a conversation like you will."

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "I was never _that_ good at conversation."

"You know what I mean."

Natasha actually sounded sad.

"Hey, I'm only a few minutes away," Bucky said. "We'll still hang out."

"Yeah, but now I'll have to _call_ you..." She smirked, then it faded away. "So Steve's helping you move tomorrow?"

"Yup. So much stuff, I don't know how we'll possibly manage."

"You'd better invite me to your housewarming party," Nat said.

"I will."

"Okay." Natasha turned to go. "I guess I'll see you tonight. For the last time."

Bucky laughed at the dramatics. "It'll be just like always," he said. "I'll come home from work, we'll have pizza, we'll go to bed. Except Cheddar will be here, too." He grinned at that.

Today was the big day. He was going to adopt Cheddar.

"See you later then," Nat said, and he grabbed his backpack and headed into work.

The late August sun shone brightly through the trees. Tonight, Cheddar was finally going to be his. Tomorrow he'd be signing papers for his apartment and getting the key, but today was the day he was most excited about. He hadn't breathed a word of it to anyone at work, worried that he'd somehow jinx it.

Basically, everything was awesome. Things with Steve were great - he'd hoped, when he told Steve about the apartment, that Steve would jump in with the offer of moving in with him, but when he didn't, Bucky was able to shrug it off. It would be an adventure living alone. He'd be fully independent, going to school, have his dog and his boyfriend, basically everything he ever wanted. Someday he would move in with Steve. And it felt good to know that he didn't _have_ to, that he had other options.

He swung into the shelter, ditched his backpack and immediately headed for Cheddar's cage. He had a collar with new tags all ready for him.

But when he got to Cheddar's cage, it was empty. Empty as in cleaned out. No more nametag on the door.

He scanned the other cages, thinking maybe, for some reason, Cheddar had been moved to a different pen. Had Bucky walked right by him in his eagerness? Nope. Cheddar was not there. He walked quickly to the play area. None of the dogs out there were a little brown and white bulldog.

He spun around and nearly slammed into Nick Fury.

"Where's Cheddar?" he demanded.

Nick sighed. "There's no easy way to say this, Barnes."

His heartbeat spiked in an instant. " _No_ ," he said. They couldn't have put Cheddar down. Not him. Not the friendliest dog in the world. Even if he hadn't been adopted in a year, they couldn't put him down. _No_.

"Cheddar was adopted this morning," Nick said.

The floor fell away beneath him. His vision blurred. He struggled to suck in enough breath to ask, " _Who?_ Who adopted him?"

Nick shook his head. "You know we can't give that information out."

"But I work here!"

Nick laid his hand on Bucky's shoulder. Bucky flung it away.

"Barnes, you knew this day would come."

"But who adopted him?"

"If you need to leave for the day, Phil can drive you home. Phil?"

 _Why?_ Bucky ground his teeth together, willing the tears not to overflow. He could call Steve. _No._ He had to get out of here right now.

Phil gave Bucky an awkward pat on the back as they walked out to Phil's car. "We had a feeling you'd be upset," Phil said apologetically. "You want to head home?"

"Can you take me to Steve's?" Bucky said desperately. His hands were shaking too badly to text, but he knew Steve was home. He'd been accepted to a position at the Springfield Police Department, and the training program didn't have him working at a full forty hours yet.

He kept it together all way up Blue Hill Road, even up until he exited Phil's car, thanked him for the ride, and walked up the front steps. He didn't knock. He went inside and in a choked voice called out, "Steve?"

Footsteps headed his way, and another sound that rang as familiar even though it seemed off. A clinking, jingling sound, and the scrabble of claws on the hardwood floors.

Cheddar trotted into view and bolted into a full run when he saw Bucky. A giant red bow had been tied around his neck. Bucky was vaguely aware of Steve sauntering in behind the dog as he lifted Cheddar into his arms and buried his face in his fur.

He had no words. He sobbed openly for a while until Cheddar's tongue bath started to tickle. Then he let the bulldog lick away his tears and looked at Steve. "You adopted my dog?" he asked in disbelief.

"Nah. I adopted your dog for you. You just have to sign the papers," Steve said.

"I was... I was going to adopt him this morning," Bucky stuttered. "You knew that."

"I did. I also know how much it costs to adopt a dog."

Bucky looked down at Cheddar. He couldn't smile, not quite yet. "That was a mean trick. Even if you meant for it to be a present."

"I know. I have another present to make up for it."

Steve stepped closer and held out a little gold box, the kind jewelry came in. Bucky looked at Steve questioningly.

"Go on. Open it."

Bucky took the box. Lifted the lid. Inside, on a little pillow of cotton, lay two brass house keys joined by a keyring. He stared at them. "Are these..."

"To this house, yeah. Our house."

He looked at Steve, not understanding why. _Why now?_

"I know, my timing is terrible," Steve said, looking down at his hands. "It takes me a long time to realize things. It wasn't until you told me you had found an apartment that I realized I didn't want you to move into an apartment. I wanted you to move in with me. And then I questioned myself, and went back and forth, and then I procrastinated until the last possible minute... What I'm saying is, I want you to live here, with me. I want this to be our house. I want Cheddar to live here too. I bought him a dog bed, and everything. He's all set up in the spare room."

"A dog bed?" Bucky said, because that seemed to be the only part of Steve's speech he could comprehend. "I was just going to have Cheddar sleep on the bed with me."

Steve laughed. "He can do that, too." His face grew serious. "Look, I know you have this other place all lined up. And if you feel like you're not ready for this, like you need to be on your own for a while, I don't mind. You can take all the time you need to decide. In the meantime, you have a key now, and you can come over here whenever you want."

Bucky's arms, full of wriggly dog, filled the space between them. "I'd have to decide by tomorrow."

"I know. I suck." Steve winced.

"Do you... mind if I sleep on it?" Bucky asked.

The look on Steve's face caused him physical pain. "Whatever you need, Bucky. Just know that I love you, no matter what."

"I love you too," Bucky said, leaned over the dog and kissed him until Cheddar started to get rowdy and Bucky had to put him down. "What kind of dog bed did you get?"

Steve dropped Bucky and Cheddar off at Natasha's before dinner. Nat had planned what she was calling "The Last Supper" for him, and Clint, Kate, and Bruce were all going to be there, but Steve decided not to stay. Bucky watched his tail lights drive away, a heavy feeling in his chest.

The dinner was bittersweet, everyone remembering events from the last seven years. "James, remember that time Clint passed out in your bed?"

"Or the time he passed out in the bathtub?"

"The epic pizza quest of 2011!"

"Ugh, the month Mora lived here?"

Then the conversation turned to the future, and how much fun Pepper and Tony's wedding in late September was going to be, and Bucky grew contemplative.

Eventually, he nudged Natasha and asked her quietly if she could drive him to Steve's.

The porch lights were on, but the only light on inside was the blue glow of the television in the living room. He could hear the snoring through the open windows. Letting himself in with his key, he dropped the garbage bag full of his clothes on the floor of the front hall. Cheddar nosed his way inside and trotted off to the spare room, tags jingling. The snoring continued. Bucky reached out and slammed the front door.

A snort, and then Steve was sitting up on the couch, staring at him.

"I made up my mind," Bucky said.


End file.
